


The Second Coming

by wesleysgirl, Wolfling



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 58,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to Bubble_blunder for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Second Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Bubble_blunder for the beta.

Eternal bliss didn't last as long as it used to.

That was the one thought that floated through Doyle's mind as his being was suddenly torn from the peace and contentment that he had floated in for a timeless instant.

He was caught in a sickening dizzying whirl, feeling simultaneously like he was being ripped apart and pressed together into a smaller and smaller space, until suddenly he was shoved into a... container that was impossibly small and confined.

Gradually he became aware of old but familiar sensations: heart beating, air moving in and out of lungs, the heavy feel of gravity pulling new-found limbs down against the soft surface beneath his body.

He was solid again. Alive.

He realized that he could hear voices close by, one familiar and one... not.

"There," the unfamiliar voice said, and Doyle would have flinched from the oily, sibilant sound if he had been able to move. "We have fulfilled our part of the bargain. The half-breed is returned. Now you must honour your end."

"Is he --? He's not conscious." That voice Doyle knew almost as well as his own and even in his current state he was able to put a name to it.

Angel...

"Coming back to life is not an easy thing," the first voice replied. "He will wake in time."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" Angel asked in such a hopeful, hesitant voice that Doyle wanted to reassure him immediately, but he couldn't move, or speak or open his eyes. All he could do was lie there and listen.

"He may be changed by the ordeal he has gone through, but he will recover. Time grows short. We must go."

"I know," Angel replied and the soft defeat that voice held sent a frisson of alarm down Doyle's spine. "Just -- I need a moment to say goodbye."

That alarmed Doyle even more, an alarm that was quickly building into panic as he felt cool fingers touch his cheek gently. "I'm sorry, Doyle," Angel murmured to him in a soft voice. "I never meant for you to suffer in my place. If I'd known what was happening, I never would have waited this long. But it's fixed -- you're back where you belong and I'm... I'm getting what I deserve. Take care of Cordy -- I know she'll take care of you. Don't... don't hate me too much, okay?"

Doyle by this time was struggling for all he was worth to speak, to move, to open his eyes -- to communicate with Angel in some way. What he was hearing was _wrong_ , and he knew with an uncanny certainty that it was about to get even wronger if he couldn't stop it.

But try as he might, he was unable to so much as twitch an eyelash as Angel's lips pressed against his own lax, unprotesting mouth.

"All right," Angel said. "I'm ready."

Doyle didn't hear anything else, but knew the exact moment when they disappeared, leaving him alone to be dragged down into the darkness of his mind.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Wesley was sitting in front of the computer when Cordelia opened the door, and he looked at her reprovingly as she came into the office.

"You're late," he said, making a show of checking his watch. "It's after eleven."

"Yeah, well, I had an audition." Cordelia set her bag down on one of the chairs and sighed. "And before you ask how it went -- which I _know_ you were going to do, right? -- it didn't. They took one look at me and then it was all 'you don't project the image we're looking for.' It was a commercial for _breath mints,_ for crying out loud. What kind of image are they looking for that I don't project?"

Wesley had already gone back to typing at the computer. "Someone with bad breath?" he suggested. "You should be flattered. And you could let us know if you're going to be late."

"Because we have so many clients, you mean? In case you'd forgotten, _I'm_ the early warning system. It's not like something exciting's going to happen without me knowing about it. And I _did_ tell Angel that I wasn't going to be in on time. Where is Mr. Tall Dark and Broody, anyway?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Oh, right, so you're reading _me_ the riot act for being late when the _boss_ hasn't even bothered to drag his sorry ass out of bed yet? I'm gonna go down there and give him a piece of my mind." And ignoring Wesley's half-hearted protest, she stomped down the stairs to Angel's apartment.

There was a light on in the kitchen area, and the refrigerator was making a humming, gurgling sound, but otherwise the apartment was very quiet. It was so still and peaceful that Cordelia felt her irritation fade somewhat. Was Angel even home? He was probably still in bed. Quietly, she crept through the apartment to the doorway of his bedroom and peeked in.

There was one small light on in the corner, and the slightly yellowed cast of the bulb fell across the body lying on the bed. Which clearly wasn't Angel's, as the man lying on the bed was too short and too slight. He had one arm thrown up across his face, but something about the curve of the shoulder -- the hair, dark and sticking up in haphazard spikes -- was familiar. Cordelia moved silently over beside the bed and gently took the man's sleeve between her fingers, using it to slide his arm away from his face so that she could see who on earth was lying on Angel's bed.

"Oh my god." Her fingers flew to cover her mouth in utter shock. Was this real? She reached out again and shook Doyle's upper arm gently. He was limp and warm and breathing. He was real. "Doyle? Doyle? Come on, wake up."

He groaned and tried to roll away from her grip, then confused green eyes blinked dazedly up at her. "Cor-- Cordelia?"

His voice was just as dazed as his expression, but it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard.

"Oh my god," she said again. "It's really you. Are you okay? How did you get here? Where's Angel, and why the hell didn't he call me when you..."

She trailed off as Doyle continued to stare at her, heartbreaking confusion clear on his face. "Cordelia?" he repeated, reaching out a trembling hand to touch her cheek.

Cordy grabbed Doyle's hand and held it, seeking a connection with him. "It's me, Doyle. It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay." She stroked his hair gently with her free hand, trying to soothe him. "Are you hurt?"

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "Was pulled... dark, everything was dark. Couldn't move... couldn't scream..." He swallowed hard, gripping her hand tightly, and Cordelia could sense the panic just underneath the surface.

"It's okay," she repeated. "Just... take some deep breaths. It's gonna be fine." She squeezed his hand back to reassure him that she wasn't going anywhere. Her fingers smoothed Doyle's brow, then traveled down the side of his face to stroke his cheek. He was clearly on the edge of freaking out, and she didn't know what she'd do if he did.

But he seemed to calm under her touch, his breathing slowing to almost normal, his grip on her hand relaxing from white knuckled. "Thanks," he said, and his voice was stronger and his gaze, when he opened his eyes again he was just more... there.

Cordelia smiled encouragingly at him. She had a dozen questions crowding her brain as they waited impatiently for their turn to be asked. Doyle's eyes were locked on hers, and she'd forgotten how very green they were, and oh god, she was staring at him. Flustered, she dropped her eyes to their linked hands. "Are you hurt?" she asked again.

Slowly, carefully, Doyle pulled himself into a sitting position, keeping hold of Cordelia's hand the entire time. "Everything seems to be in working order."

"Good." Her sense of control slowly returning, Cordy looked around the room. "Where's Angel?"

"You're asking me?"

Cordelia focused on Doyle again. "Doesn't he know you're back? I mean, I just figured... Well, we've got to find him and tell him." Her hand tightened on his for a moment. "You're really here."

"Yeah. Though where I was before..." Doyle's voice trailed off and his eyes got distant; Cordelia could almost see his thoughts drifting off.

"Doyle!" she said sharply. "C'mon, stay with me here." She was finally realizing how out of it he was. It was finally beginning to sink in that he'd been _dead_ and somewhere else. Her voice softened. "Where were you?"

His gaze focused back on her again, and she could almost feel his attention coming back to her and the moment. "I... I think I was in heaven." The corners of his mouth curled up in a heartbreakingly familiar sardonic smile. "Hard to believe they'd take someone like me, huh?"

"No, not so hard to believe," she said softly. "You did that hero thing, didn't you?" She could still imagine the last few moments of his life, in painful detail. "Do you remember?"

Doyle nodded, expression turning a bit more serious. "Yeah. It's not the kind of thing that's easy to forget."

Cordelia hesitated. Did he know about her having the visions? She'd never been sure whether or not he'd passed them on to her deliberately. If he had, then she had every right to give him hell for it. But if it had been an accident -- and god knew she wanted to believe that his kiss had meant something more than just some quirky vision-transfer -- then she needed to break it to him gently. "Do you... do you remember kissing me?"

The smile was back, even wider than ever. "That's not the kind of thing you forget either."

Unbelievably, she could feel herself blushing. And with all the memories that brought to the surface, Cordy decided that even if he didn't know about the visions, she wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet. "We should go tell Wesley that you're here -- maybe he can help us track down Angel. He's not gonna believe you're back! Oh, Doyle, I... _we_ really missed you."

"Angel..." Doyle frowned and he shook his head in frustration. "There's something... I _know_ something, but I just can't..."

"Hey, it's okay," Cordelia said, stroking the back of his hand. "I'm sure everything will come back to you. Let me go upstairs and get Wesley. Okay?"

Once again her touch seemed to reassure him. "Okay," he said, relaxing back against the pillows again and releasing her hand with obvious reluctance. There was a pause and then he frowned again. "Who's Wesley?"

"Oh -- he kind of works here now. He's that British guy that was Buffy's Watcher in Sunnydale -- for a little while, after Giles got fired -- I told you about him, didn't I? He's even more annoying than you, if that's possible, but he's good with the books." Cordelia stood up and gave Doyle a stern look. "Stay right here. I'll be back in a minute."

She went up the stairs slowly, feeling a little bit as if the tilt-a-whirl that was her life had spun out of control once again. Just when she and Angel had been able to get some perspective on Doyle's death, just when she thought she'd be able to move on, here he was back again. Had she done something really, really awful in a previous incarnation to deserve this swirling mass of chaos?

Wesley glanced up from the book he was reading when she came in and immediately set it aside with a frown. "What's wrong?"

Cordelia didn't know how to say it with any kind of subtlety, and that wasn't her style anyway. "Doyle's downstairs."

Wesley blinked at her. "Doyle," he repeated slowly, as if testing the feel of the name on his tongue, "is downstairs. Doyle, your former colleague. The one who's dead?"

"Uh-huh. I went downstairs to yell at Angel, and there's Doyle lying on his bed. He's all confused -- and he says he was in heaven -- and I don't know where Angel is -- and Wesley, what the hell is going on?" Cordelia could hear her voice rising to a near-wail and she had absolutely no way to stop herself.

"Cordelia..." Wesley got to his feet and quickly moved to her side, reaching out and resting his hands on her shoulders. "We'll sort it out, all right? Take a deep breath and try to calm down."

"Yeah... okay," she said, feeling herself trembling in delayed reaction. It wasn't every day that she found dead -- well, previously dead -- friends in her employer's bed. Thank god. She didn't think she could take many days like this one. "We need to find Angel. And can you come back downstairs with me? 'Cause if I go back down there by myself and Doyle's not there, I think I'm gonna totally lose it."

"Of course," Wesley agreed instantly. Cordelia suspected there was certain amount of humoring happening, but there was also genuine worry as well.

"How could this happen? How could he just... come back?" She started slowly, almost reluctantly, back toward the stairs.

Only to stop when she saw Doyle standing at the top of them. He was white as a sheet, leaning against the wall with one hand, the other grasping a piece of paper. "It was Angel. He sold his soul for me."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

>   
> 
> 
> _Doyle:_  
> 

>   
> _I hope you can forgive me for not acting sooner. If I'd known, I would've gotten you out right away, wouldn't have let you take my punishment in the first place._   
> 

>   
> _And it_ was _my punishment -- don't ever think otherwise. Don't think for a second that you deserved to be there. You might have made mistakes, but you're good, Doyle, really. You deserve good things, deserve to be in a good place._  
> 

>   
> _Me, I'm not good. I deserve... well, you got a taste of what I deserve. God, I can't tell you how sorry I am for that -- there's no words, you know?_   
> 

>   
> _But it's all taken care of now. You're back and I'm... where I belong._   
> 

>   
> _I know how you must be feeling, but it'll get better. Just take it slow and things will start making sense. Cordelia will do everything she can to help, I'm sure._   
> 

>   
> _You've always been a good friend, Doyle. I'm sorry what that friendship brought you to. I always knew that I was bound for Hell again; I never meant for a friend to be condemned to it in my place._   
> 

>   
> _I know you and Cordy will take care of each other, and that you'll be okay. That makes it easier to face where I'm going._   
> 

>   
> _\- Angel_   
> 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Half an hour later, Doyle was still trying desperately to pull himself together as they all sat around Angel's kitchen table figuring out what to do next.

He was still reeling from just being alive, having a body again. Everything was bright and sharp and loud, every sense seemed to be set on high. It left him feeling simultaneously exposed and closed in by the limits of his flesh and senses.

It was difficult to concentrate, to focus on any one thing for any length of time. His attention kept wandering, getting caught by the smallest, most inconsequential of things: the way the light glinted off the fall of Cordelia's hair as she moved her head, the feel of the warm wood of the table under his hands, the sound of the kettle boiling as the stranger -- Wesley, he remembered -- made some tea.

He felt like he was adrift in a sea of random stimuli and desperately he tried to hold onto the important thing: Angel. Angel was gone. Angel was an _idiot,_ but one whose current idiocy had been a misguided attempt at rescuing Doyle from what the vampire had thought was a fate worse than... well, _just_ death.

They had to get Angel back. Doyle doggedly held onto that one truth in the chaos that his reality was currently made of.

"How could he do this?" Cordelia asked, not for the first time. "I mean, _why_ would he get it into his head that Doyle was in hell?" She was pacing the room again, back and forth in a way that was making Doyle rather dizzy.

"That's a good question, of course," agreed Wesley. "It's hardly the sort of thing he would have come up with on his own, out of the blue -- I have to wonder if someone might have approached him."

"The Powers That Be?" said Cordelia, doubt evident in her voice. "But Doyle _wasn't_ in hell. Why would they tell Angel that he was?" She looked over at Doyle, who was staring at his hands on the table. "Doyle? What do you think?"

Doyle started at the sound of his name, silently cursing himself for having drifted off again, despite his best efforts to pay attention. "I..." He looked up at Cordelia, fighting the tendency to get lost in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Princess, I can't... What do I think about what?"

Cordelia took a mug of tea from Wesley, smiling her thanks at him, and stepped closer to Doyle in an obvious attempt to keep his attention. She put the cup down on the table in front of him and deliberately wrapped his hands around the mug. "About any of this. Why would someone tell Angel that you were in hell when you weren't?"

"Simple," he replied distractedly, the words coming in the same slow pace that his thoughts seemed to be stuck in whenever he tried to concentrate it. "Because whoever it was wanted Angel to sacrifice himself. It was a scam and Angel fell for it." The warmth of the mug felt good in his palms; Cordelia's hands against his own felt even better. The touch helped ground him, and he turned one hand to intertwine his fingers with hers, holding onto the mug with the other.

"But then why bring you back at all? Why not just tell him they were going to make the switch, and then leave you where you were and take him to... wherever?" Cordelia looked angry, and then the expression on her face crumpled into misery. "Do you really think he's in hell?"

Memories of Angel saying goodbye and another voice that had clung to his hearing like an oil slick teased the edge of Doyle's mind, substantial as smoke. "Yeah, I do," he said softly.

After a moment's silence, Wesley offered with diffidence, "As for why they -- whoever they are -- brought Doyle back, perhaps Angel refused to go along without proof that Doyle had been... released?"

Cordelia stared down at her fingers, which were still linked with Doyle's. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure you're right." She was clearly responding to Wesley and not Doyle.

"We have to get him back," Doyle murmured. Saying the words seemed to help him focus, and the fog in his mind cleared enough for him to think of something he could do. "I need to see the Oracles." He stood and would've gone right then if Cordelia's grip on his hand didn't hold him back.

"Yeah, that's a great idea for a guy who can't follow a conversation for more than twelve seconds at a time," she said. Her voice softened at the expression on Doyle's face. "You're right -- we're gonna get him back. But you aren't doing this alone."

He looked down at their joined hands. "No, not alone," he murmured, the words a mantra to help focus his thoughts. Shaking himself, he raised his gaze to meet Cordelia's. " _We_ need to see the Oracles," he repeated, modifying the statement to include her.

"Okay," she said, tugging on his hand so that he'd sit back down. "But first, drink your tea. And tell me about the Oracles -- I want to know what to expect." She glanced up at Wesley in case he had something to share, but Wesley just motioned at Doyle in a gesture that encouraged the other man to speak.

Oracles. Right. Forcing himself to concentrate, he began to relate what he knew. "They speak for the Powers, and never give a real straight answer. They don't like to be bothered with things they consider beneath them -- which is pretty much everything. And they can be right cranky when they get annoyed."

"It's probably safe to assume that they're not just gonna hand him back over to us," Cordelia said thoughtfully. "They didn't before, when Angel went to see them after you..."

"When Angel did what?" Doyle asked, eyes wide. "Angel went to the Oracles about me?"

Cordelia sighed. "Of course he did. It's not like there was anything else that might have worked. But they... they said something about you having to die so that Angel could keep saving people. They wouldn't bring you back." She looked at Wesley again. "Wes, is there any point in going to see them now? I mean, won't they just tell us to go to heh -- " She cut herself off and finished lamely, "To get lost?"

Wesley put his own mug of tea down on the counter top and leaned back. "Perhaps. On the other hand, even if they won't bring Angel back, they might be able to tell you _something_ useful. Doyle, since the Oracles _are_ the voice, so to speak, of the Powers That Be, they must at times simply provide information, mustn't they?"

"Yeah. That's why so many people go to them. Which is why they're so freaking cranky all the time -- because people keep bothering them with 'petty' stuff."

"This isn't petty!" Cordelia protested loudly. "This is... oh. You weren't talking about us, were you. Is there something we can do so they aren't all pissed off at us before we even get a chance to see them?"

"Most people bring a gift of some kind." Doyle shrugged. "Not that it seems to do much good. But they'll answer us." He stared at the mug of tea, that had somehow ended up back in his hand. "They damned well owe me that much at least."

"Yeah, they owe me big time, too," Cordelia said darkly. Her eyes fell on Angel's letter again. "God, I can't believe he fell for something like this! How could he be so stupid?"

Wesley looked at her reproachfully. "Cordelia, I'm sure whoever it was was very convincing. Can you honestly say that if you had been approached and told that Doyle was in Hell, suffering eternal torment, that you wouldn't have wanted to do something to save him?"

She glared at Wesley, eyes flashing. "No! I mean, yeah, I would have tried to save him! But... I just don't know how all this happened."

"How this all happened?" Doyle repeated. "It's simple -- someone told Angel it was all his fault and he believed it. That's not exactly out of character. The big moron."

Cordelia turned her glare on Doyle. "I know _that._ I just can't believe he didn't come to us --" She gestured between herself and Wesley for clarification. "To tell us what was going on. He must have known that we would have made him figure out some other way to get you back..."

Wesley coughed politely. "That quite probably is the reason he kept it a secret. If he believed sacrificing himself was the only way to rescue Doyle, he wouldn't want to deal with any arguments."

Doyle nodded. "Like I said -- the big moron."

"Okay, so we're all on the same page, right? Angel's a moron, and we're gonna get him back." Cordelia looked at Doyle a bit doubtfully. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, up until a couple of hours ago you _were_ dead."

"I remember. Brain's still a little... scattered," Doyle admitted, "but I'll manage. Angel needs us." Glancing down at Cordelia's and his still clasped hands, he added, "Having you near seems to help me focus."

She squeezed his hand. "You'll be fine. So -- where do we go?"

"The entrance to their dimension is under the post office." He looked at Cordelia. "Does that mean we go now?"

"Unless there's something else I need to know, I'm thinking the sooner the better," she replied. "Because doesn't time in hell pass a lot more quickly than it does here?"

"Not just in hell," Doyle said, thinking of what had felt like a lifetime that had passed since he'd died. He suddenly realized he had no idea how long it had actually been. Long enough for someone new to become a part of Angel Investigations, he thought, looking at Wesley, but short enough that Cordelia still looked the same as his memories.

"In... in heaven, too?" she asked, hesitantly. "What was it like?"

Doyle thought about it, trying to come up with the words to describe the indescribable. "It was... perfection. Love and light and acceptance and... It all sounds a lot more trite than it was."

"Sounds like a commercial for The Church of Latter Day Saints," Cordelia agreed. "But if you had to be dead, at least you were somewhere pretty, right? Which is definitely _not_ where Angel is, so I think it's time we stopped with the avoidance and got down to business."

"Right." Once again, Doyle climbed to his feet, then hesitated as he caught sight of the mug still sitting on the table. "Uh, do I still have to finish my tea first?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The underground chamber was cool and dim and smelled like somebody'd taken a pee up against the wall. Great. The Powers-That-Be couldn't afford a cleaning service? On the other hand, they probably didn't deal much with money, but still -- a little magical wave of one hand, and the place would be all roses and sunshine, right?

The heavy pendant that they'd brought as an offering swung against Cordelia's breasts as she moved. Wesley had tried to insist that they find something else to bring -- had said something about this pendant being some kind of artifact, Etruscan bicon-thingee -- but she and Doyle had pretty much ignored him. It wasn't like Angel could complain, assuming they managed to rescue him, and if they didn't -- well, then he wouldn't be needing some really ugly piece of jewelry that he'd jammed into a kitchen drawer where normal people would have kept forks and spatulas.

Cordelia took a deep breath and looked around again. There was an arch in one wall, with some words carved into it that she couldn't read, and the place felt... heavy. Like all the weight of L.A. was pressing down directly over this spot, making it hard to breathe. And okay, not the best thing to think about, because as soon as she did she started feeling kind of claustrophobic.

"Okay, so what next?" she whispered to Doyle.

"Now we knock," he told her with his old familiar smile, pulling out the container of herbs he'd brought with him and dumping them in the urn. "We beseech access to the knowing ones," he murmured over them, then lit them on fire.

Doyle stepped back as they burned, seeming to automatically reach for Cordelia's hand again.

Cordelia grabbed onto Doyle as the space under the arch suddenly filled with light, as if someone had flipped a switch. He motioned with his hand, so she let him lead her into the light.

In a flash they were somewhere else entirely -- a chamber room that glowed white, cold, hard. Two -- people? -- a man and a woman, were standing in front of them. They seemed mostly human, other than looking like they'd missed out on the Surgeon General's announcement about too much sun causing skin cancer. They were shiny and glittery like gold.

"You are lower beings," the man said. "You are not welcome here."

"I'm not welcome a lot of places," Doyle shot right back, "but that's never stopped me before."

The man frowned forbiddingly. "Insolence will not be tolerated."

"He's not being... well, maybe he is." Cordelia said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation even though she didn't think they'd ever actually _had_ control. She could just picture what might happen if Doyle pissed the Oracles off, and she didn't like it. "But... look, we brought you a present!"

She took the chain from around her neck and held the pendant out tentatively.

The woman reached for it, but stopped in mid-reach, frowning suddenly at Doyle. "This is wrong. You should not be here."

"Yeah, we got that the first time -- lower beings, not welcome. Can we move past that, please?"

She shook her head. "No. You should not be here, on this plane of existence. You had Ascended."

Cordelia threw her hands up in the air, realized that this might be taken as a threat, and brought them cautiously back down to her sides. "Shouldn't you guys know all this? I mean, aren't you supposed to speak for the Powers? Please tell me you know why we're here."

The woman held her hand out, and the pendant flew from Cordelia's grasp into her own. "You seek the warrior."

" _Yes_ ," Doyle said. "Can you tell us where he is?"

The woman still seemed nonplused by Doyle's presence as she answered. "You already know that."

"Okay, so he's in Hell," said Cordelia. "We need to get him back. Heck, the _Powers_ need him back, don't they?"

"If he is gone from this plane, he is released from his fealty," the man replied. "He no longer serves the Powers-That-Be. He is no longer our concern."

"So what about me, then? Do I still serve the Powers?" Cordelia knew her eyes were flashing with anger, and was beyond the ability to restrain herself.

"The Seer's gift is not dependent on the Champion's presence," the woman answered calmly.

Doyle's reaction was anything but calm. "Seer?!" He turned to search Cordelia's face. "You're... the visions...?"

Cordelia felt her face flush. Crap. Maybe she _should_ have said something earlier, because now was _not_ the time to get into this. Already being pissed off was not conducive with having a conversation that wouldn't leave Doyle wracked with guilt. "Yeah, okay?" she said to him, and then turned her attention back to the Oracles. "So you're telling me I'm stuck with the visions even though Angel's not around to do anything about them? How is that fair?"

The man regarded her coldly. "The tasks are sent. How you undertake them is not our concern."

"Back up a moment here," Doyle said, stepping forward to face the Oracles toe to toe, bristling. "I understand why I got the visions -- it was a fitting consequence for what I did. But Cordelia doesn't deserve the kind of torture the visions give. Why her?"

"We were not the ones who gave her the gift," the woman told him, with a touch of compassion.

"Doyle, would you just shut up a minute?" Cordelia said. "Right now we need to figure out how to get Angel back. We can deal with the whole vision thing _later._ "

But Doyle was already following the Oracle's statement. "If they didn't, then..." he trailed off, eyes widening in horror as he turned to stare at Cordelia. "Me? I gave them to you?"

"Yeah, right along with that kiss you're so fond of remembering," she snapped. "But again, _not_ why we're here."

The shell-shocked look on Doyle's face told her that it wasn't going to be that easy to push this subject aside. "Cordy, I-- I never meant--"

She hadn't known, not for sure, but it was pretty clear now. "Doyle, focus. Come on." Remembering what he had said before, she stepped forward so that she could take his hand. Looked at the woman, who seemed a bit more approachable (and how often in her life had Cordelia thought _that_ about another woman?) and asked, "Can you tell us how to get Angel back?"

The woman looked at them for a minute before answering. "We cannot interfere in a bargain struck and fairly carried out. The Champion made his choice. It cannot be unmade."

"Can't be unmade, can't be unmade," Cordelia repeated under her breath. There was something there, she just knew it. Her hand squeezed tighter on Doyle's as she realized what _wasn't_ being said. "We can't unmake the bargain Angel made. But we can strike a new one." She glanced at Doyle to see his reaction.

Doyle looked grim and determined and there was something about his eyes that set warning bells off in Cordy's mind; she made a mental note to remind him as often as possible that the object was to get Angel back without losing anyone else. But then Doyle smiled just a little, challengingly. "We'll make them an offer they can't refuse, Princess."

Cordelia turned back to the Oracles, and addressed both of them. "So if it wasn't the Powers That Be that Angel made his bargain with -- who was it?"

"That is not our concern," the man said coldly. "It is not our place to become involved in the petty problems of lower beings."

"You've probably managed to screw with us enough for one lifetime, anyway," Cordelia said bitterly. Not their place? What did they think they'd been doing all this time, then? "Come on, Doyle, they're not gonna help. Let's get out of here."

Doyle was looking at the Oracles. "You're right, Cordy," he said suddenly. "They can't help. They didn't see this coming, didn't know I was back, _didn't know Angel was gone._ They're as clueless as we are." He turned to her. "Yeah, let's get out of here. We'll find Angel another way."

Cordelia let Doyle lead her out through the archway. There was a flash of light, and when she turned back around the room they'd been in was gone. The urn still held a few smoldering ashes and now the chamber smelled more like burnt grass than urine, which was definitely a big improvement.

"I can't believe we came all the way down here so they could tell us a big fat nothing!" she complained. "'Speak for the Powers, my ass."

"At least we know for sure it wasn't the Powers," Doyle replied, then glanced sideways at her. "And some of us found out other information that we didn't know."

"Yeah," she said awkwardly. Crap. Until he'd reacted with such surprize, she hadn't been sure that he hadn't given her the visions deliberately. Now that she knew he hadn't had a clue, she wished there had been a way to break it to him more gently. He'd probably been given enough to deal with in the past few hours without throwing a bunch of extra guilt into the mix. "I guess... I mean, from what we can figure, when you kissed me... that's when it happened."

"Fuck." He stopped and turned to face her, green eyes full of anguish. "I-- I didn't know. I never would have... Christ, Cordelia, I'm sorry."

"I know," Cordelia said. "I mean, I didn't. But I do now. It wasn't your fault." She moved over to the urn and ran her fingertips over its edge, looking for anything to distract her from the expression on his face. It was too painful to see the look in his eyes.

"You must hate my guts." Doyle sounded like the comment could be applied to himself as well.

"Actually, no," she said. She still couldn't look at him, but she could talk. She could _always_ talk. "For a while, I kind of did. I thought you'd done it on purpose, you know? Which I could understand, because Angel needed the visions. But then I started to wonder if maybe it was an accident. And geez, Doyle, we missed you so _much_..."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Every time you got a screaming migraine with Technicolor pictures."

"No," said Cordelia sharply. God, what could she say so that he would understand? She didn't have the patience for this kind of coddling. "Damn it, Doyle, you don't know what it was _like_ \-- Angel wouldn't talk to me, and I didn't have anyone else because you were _dead._ You have no idea..."

The sharp, bitter laughter startled Cordelia. "Don't know what it's like? Believe me, Princess, if anyone knows, it's me."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Okay, she was officially confused now. Unless... "Oh! Oh my god, Doyle, how is it possible for you to be so completely dense? I wasn't talking about the visions!"

Now Doyle was just as confused. "You're not?"

"No, stupid! I was talking about _you_ being _dead._ And..." She was running out of steam fast. "And me."

"Oh," Doyle said faintly.

"I really missed you," Cordelia said, and she couldn't keep the misery from creeping into her voice, even though she knew it would make her sound like a little girl.

She started at the hand that came down on her shoulder, and then she was being turned and pulled into Doyle's embrace. "I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair.

Her arms came up automatically and tightened around him. Her chin was tucked over his shoulder, which was warm and solid. She wanted to say something, anything, but for once words eluded her and she couldn't do anything but nod against him in some kind of agreement. The back of her throat ached and her eyes prickled with unshed tears. "I know," she managed to say finally, and her voice broke."Me, too."

"I didn't want to leave you," Doyle told her, his own voice thick with emotion. "But I couldn't let Angel..."

She nodded again. "I know." She thought that if he didn't say anything else nice and comforting she could probably keep from crying.

He tightened his embrace, his hands stroking her back soothingly. "I'm here now."

Cordelia shifted her grip so that she could bury her face in Doyle's neck as the tears welled up and spilled over, trembling in her attempt to hold the sobs in. He was really here and he was holding her. It felt better than she could have possibly imagined, so why was she crying? "I don't..." but she couldn't finish, because as soon as she opened her mouth to let the words out, the sobs came too.

"Hey..." Doyle hugged her tight, holding her while she cried.

She abandoned herself to it for a few moments, and then clamped down -- this was ridiculous. She would _not_ cry over nothing. Well, not _nothing,_ but... As the sobs tapered off, she managed to talk between them. "I am... _not_... _crying,_ " she said indignantly. She pushed far enough away from Doyle to look at him, and then immediately threw herself back into his arms as the tears started again.

"Of course you're not," Doyle agreed, even as comforted her.

His embrace was strong and protective, but after a few more minutes Cordelia's chest and throat started to hurt. Enough. She pulled back, did her best to glare at him, and swiped at her eyes with her hands to remove the worst of the evidence.

"That... _wasn't_... crying." It would have been more convincing, she thought, if her breath hadn't hitched.

He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. He was watching her, his expression made up of equal parts concern and something that looked like wonder. "No one's... I mean, I never thought that someone would... not cry over me."

"Definitely... _not_ crying," she repeated, and dabbed at her face with the square of cotton. She wasn't going to blow her nose in the thing -- that was just too disgusting to contemplate. Equally disgusting was how she must look now -- she was glad there wasn't a mirror around, because she _knew_ what she looked like after a crying jag, and it _wasn't_ pretty. "Don't start thinking everything's about you," she said. "I mean, I was... _not_ crying... about me, too, you know."

"Yeah." He grimaced. "The visions. God, Princess, I don't know if I can ever say I'm sorry enough."

"You probably can't," Cordelia said flatly. "But since it's going to get old real fast, I think we should move on. I don't want to keep listening to you apologize for the next... however long."

"I'm --" Doyle began, but cut himself off. "Right." His eyes though were sad and Cordelia knew he was going to continue blaming himself.

Time for a change of subject. "Can we please get out of here?" she asked. "This place really stinks."

Doyle looked away, staring at the alcove that had led to the Oracles. "Yeah," he said with evident distaste. "It does."

"So what do we do next?" Cordelia stuffed Doyle's damp handkerchief into her pocket as they started back up the stairs to the post office. "How do we find Angel if the Powers That Be won't help?"

"We go through all of Angel's things, see if we can find a clue of who, or what, we're dealing with."

She shook her head. "Oh god, the last thing I want to do is go through Angel's stuff. I don't even wanna _think_ about what he's got stashed around that apartment." She brightened. "Maybe we can get Wesley to do it."

"Yeah, Wesley... You've known him for a while?" Doyle asked almost too casually, glancing sideways at her.

"Since Sunnydale. He used to be a Watcher, but he got fired, and he just kind of showed up on our doorstep one day, a little while after you... you know. He didn't have any money and he's really good with the research, so Angel asked him if he wanted a job."

"So you're good friends?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I guess. I mean, yeah, he's a good guy. Annoying most of the time, but he means well. I trust him."

Doyle nodded absently. "That's good -- that you and Angel found someone to work with, that you can trust."

"Well, he's no you. I mean, tall! And human -- can't forget that." She gave him a quizzical look. "Why all the interest in Wesley?"

He shrugged. "Just curious about my replacement."

"He's not your -- " Cordelia cut herself off. "Well, I suppose he is, huh?" She reached out and pulled on his sleeve so that he'd stop walking and look at her. "Hey..."

He turned to face her, but his gaze didn't quite meet her own eyes.

Oh. She'd hurt him, and wasn't that just like her to say whatever came into her head without thinking about how it would sound. Most of the time the tendency served her well, but every once in a while she regretted it. This was one of those times.

Cordelia cupped Doyle's face in her hand, his chin against her palm and her fingers curled against his cheek. When his eyes met hers they were pain-filled, bleak, beyond desperate. "Hey," she said again, more softly this time. "Don't listen to me, okay? I didn't mean it like that."

Doyle shook his head. "You've moved on, I understand, really. And I can't blame you for preferring someone who's... well, human."

"Preferring... oh, my god!" Cordelia's hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she giggled. "Me and _Wesley?_ "

"You mean you're not...?" Doyle asked hesitantly.

" _Not!_ _So_ not. Wesley's a great guy, but... no."

"You used to say that about me, 'cept maybe the great guy part."

"Well, it's not like there was time for anything else to happen between us, was there? I finally found out about the whole demon thing -- half demon thing -- and then..."

"Yeah." Doyle looked at her intently, head tilted to one side. "So if I were to ask you out now..."

" _If_ you were -- which you're _not_ going to do, because we have more important things to worry about right now -- but... _if_ you did..." Cordelia glanced down.

It was Doyle's turn to lightly touch her cheek, until she looked up and met his gaze. Whatever he saw there made him smile widely, seeming totally happy in that moment for the first time since she'd found him on Angel's bed.

She found herself smiling back. Weird how he could take all of her words away from her; she threw out the only one she could find. "Okay?"

"Getting there. You?"

Cordelia nodded. "I think so. Or -- I will be. Once we find Angel."

"Yeah. I've a few things I want to say to him when we do."

"And I'm in line right behind you. Normally I'd insist on being first, but since you're the one he went to..." She shook her head. "I'm having one of those days where everything's coming out wrong."

"Not everything." He reached out and squeezed her hand, hesitated a moment and then leaned in, eyes focused on her lips, moving slowly enough to give her the chance to stop him.

Cordelia's first reaction was to let him kiss her, so she did. His lips were soft and warm and gentle, and the kiss reminded her of their last -- first -- and that thought was immediately followed by her second reaction, which was to push him away. So she did. "You really... you didn't mean to give me the visions? It was an accident?"She was pleading with him, looking for reassurance.

He held her gaze, absolutely serious. "Cordelia, I swear on my soul, I would never deliberately do that to you."

She took a deep breath, then nodded. "I know," she said, just as seriously. "I do. Sorry."

"I'm the one that should be apologizing," Doyle said. "I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Whatever you need, Princess."

"It might be nice if you could stick around this time. You know, not go jumping onto beacons, getting yourself killed? Unless..." she faltered. "I mean... it must have been pretty nice, in heaven."

"I..." Doyle's eyes grew distant. "It was," he finally said, softly.

Damn. She should have known better. "If you think I'm going to spend all my time removing sharp objects from your immediate vicinity, you're wrong," she snapped. "I'm not gonna do this again, Doyle, not if -- "

Doyle cut her off by kissing her again. "There's one thing Heaven didn't have. You."

A little bit stunned, Cordelia took a moment to recover. _That_ had taken the wind out of her sails pretty nicely. And god, he had a nice mouth. Dragging her eyes away from his lips and back up to meet his own, she asked, "You're planning on sticking around, then? Because seriously, I... I don't want you to go. And I'm not gonna keep saying that, so you'd better make up your mind."

He smiled a little. "As long as you want me, I'll be here."

She let her breath out all in a rush, not having realized until that second that she'd been holding it. "Okay," she said, feeling a grin spread across her face. "Now come on, we've got a job to do."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There was something invasive about going through a friend's private and personal possessions, but Doyle quelled any slight feelings of guilt with the knowledge that he was doing so to try and help his friend.

That and the fact that if Angel hadn't been an idiot he'd be here to stop it.

Of course if Angel hadn't been an idiot, Doyle probably wouldn't be here to be going through his things, but that was beside the point.

The point was, of course, Angel, idiot, full stop. The goal was to rescue Angel from his idiocy and it wasn't one that Doyle was likely to lose sight of.

Not that he was finding it difficult to focus anymore -- or at least any more difficult than he ever had.

That much good had come out of their visit to the Oracles, though Doyle couldn't say if it was something they had done or some sort of side effect of going through the portal to their realm. All he knew was since the visit his mind was clear and his attention no longer prone to wander as random stimuli distracted him every few seconds.

The other thing that had changed since visiting the Oracles was his memories of the immediate past. Doyle knew he'd been in heaven, knew that he'd been happier and more content there than he'd ever been alive, but he could no longer remember specifics.

Which was disappointing, but probably for the best. If he could remember clearly, how long would it have been before being here began to feel like hell in comparison? How long would it have been before he would've become desperate enough to try anything to escape reality and get back there?

Doyle knew he was stronger than he ever used to give himself credit for, but he knew with absolute certainty he never would have been able to survive that for long.

But with the memories blurred, with only the sense of contentment and the knowledge that he belonged and was accepted remaining, where he had been did not overwhelm the world around him now, and he could see this as the second chance at life that Angel had meant it to be for him.

A second chance with Cordelia.

There was a time when he wouldn't have let himself believe it, back when he'd been spending all his time hating himself.

But now, with the way Cordelia's eyes kept seeking him out as if to make sure he was still there, and the way both of them seemed to always be reaching out to touch each other, Doyle hadn't a single doubt that Cordelia felt the same way about him as he did about her.

If you ignored the momentary certainty he'd had about Cordelia being involved with the new guy at least.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce....

Doyle glanced over at the man who was helping him go through Angel's things, since Cordelia had maintained her refusal to do so.

Wesley hadn't said anything beyond what was necessary to divide up the searching, but Doyle caught him watching him more than once. It was obvious that the man had questions, but he remained stubbornly silent and just kept _watching_.

It was beginning to get on Doyle's nerves.

The next time he glanced over Wesley was looking at him again, thoughtfully, and when their eyes met the other man flushed and turned his attention back to the drawer he was sorting through.

"I'm sorry," Wesley apologized after a moment. "I don't mean to... I'm just intensely curious, you see."

Doyle snorted laughter, the sound a bit more bitter than he had expected. "Noticed. Guess it's not every day you get to gawk at someone who's come back from the dead. Vampires with souls not withstanding."

"It's not that," said Wesley with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm curious about _you,_ the man." He flushed as he apparently realized how this sounded, and continued on, "What I mean to say is, I've heard so much about you, and it's difficult to reconcile the myth with the reality."

"Not living up to my reputation?" he asked. It was still a bit of a shock to realize he _had_ a reputation.

Wesley removed some loose papers from the drawer and flipped through them, setting each one into a pile next to him as he discarded it as unimportant. "It's just that I would have thought I'd known what to expect -- had I known to expect you -- and I've found that you're rather different. Although I'm sure it was quite a shock to suddenly find yourself here."

"To put it mildly, yeah." Putting his own papers aside, Doyle turned and studied the other man. "What did you expect?"

"Well. As you know, Cordelia has a... colorfully descriptive way with words, so your physical appearance is generally what I expected." Wesley bent over to look into the depths of the drawer, shuddered, and closed the drawer with the tips of his fingers as if trying to keep himself as far away from it as possible. "Otherwise, I suppose it's mostly that you're a real person, whereas the Doyle I had pictured was... the hero."

Doyle shifted where he sat, uncomfortable with the title. "I'm not, y'know. Always considered myself a bit of a coward, when I thought about it at all." The memory of his very first vision, of the lives his cowardice had cost, was still with him and always will be.

"That's not the way _they_ think of you," Wesley said quietly. "It's not the picture Cordelia paints, no matter how often she complains about the visions."

He wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to... "What does she say about me?"

Okay, maybe he was.

Wesley smiled ruefully. "She tends to say that you were -- are --short, and annoying, and have a bad fashion sense. It isn't so much what she says as _how_ she says it, if you know what I mean. And then there's Angel, of course."

"Angel talked about me?" Somehow that surprised Doyle. Brooding silently had always been the vampire's style.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that." Wesley started to go through a pile of books, opening each one methodically as if to see if there was anything tucked inside. "I know that Cordelia did try to get him to on at least a few occasions, although I'm not sure she had much success. But he did... well... " Wesley looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Once, when Cordelia and I were arguing, he... he called me 'Doyle.'"

"Oh." Doyle could picture it -- Cordelia and Wesley sniping back and forth and Angel finally snapping and telling them to stop -- except getting the wrong names. "Cordy and I, we used to argue about as often as we breathed. Angel breaking it up got to be sort of a reflex." He regarded the man he'd been considering his replacement, suddenly realizing that Wesley must have been thinking of himself the same way.

"Yes, that's what it felt like at the time, as well," said Wesley. "As soon as he realized what he'd said, he corrected himself. But it was... well, very awkward."

"Yeah, it would be." Doyle hesitated, then asked, "Is my being back... awkward for you?"

"No, no, of course not." Wesley opened the book he was holding very carefully, checked inside, and put it down with the others he'd already looked at. He glanced up at Doyle and then away again. "No."

"I could understand if you were. I mean, I know it's awkward for _me_."

"Is it?" Wesley looked interested despite himself. "How?"

"Well, aside from the whole Angel sacrificing himself for me, there's just coming back from the dead and finding that life's moved on. My apartment's gone, all my things, the place I'd made for myself..." Doyle's voice trailed off and he looked down at the books he was going through, afraid he may have said more than he had intended.

"Your apartment and things may be gone, but your place is still here," Wesley protested. He looked around as if searching for something else to sort through, and seemed to settle on a small bookcase in the corner. He crouched down on the floor next to it and started to move things around. After a moment he looked back at Doyle, and his expression was serious. "It's not as if they forgot about you."

"I know that. But..." He sighed, starting to flip through the sketchbook he'd found. "Guess it's just something of a shock how well life went on without me. Angel still brooded, the visions still happened, and Cordy found someone else to fight with."

Wesley stopped whatever he had been doing and looked at Doyle, _really_ looked at him in a way that was a bit disconcerting. "You seem like too decent a fellow to have wanted things to fall apart for them after you were gone. Surely you sacrificed yourself the way that you did because you wanted them to be all right?"

"Of course!" Doyle replied, appalled at even the suggestion that he would want his friends to be hurting.

"So you wanted life to go on well in your absence, and yet you find it awkward that it did." Wesley didn't seem to be trying to goad him, but rather was looking for clarification.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to be coming back, was I?"

"True enough," said Wesley. "I suppose after we get Angel back and some time has passed, things will return to normal for you."

"God, I hope not," Doyle muttered fervently, then noticing Wesley's surprised look explained, "Normal for me wasn't all that pleasant before. Other than having Cordy and Angel as friends."

"Ah." Wesley turned his attention back to the bookshelf. "Well, just give yourself some time to adjust."

"Can't really do anything but, can I?"

He was still flipping through the sketch book, which was mostly pictures of Angel's love Buffy, until he turned a page and found a sketch of... himself.

He must have made some kind of sound because Wesley looked up. "Have you found something?"

"I...." Doyle stared down at his own face. "He drew me."

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley came over and looked over Doyle's shoulder at the sketch. "Oh, I see. He's quite good, isn't he."

Doyle nodded mutely and turned the page to find another picture of him. Another page, another picture. And another and another... With increasing speed and agitation, he flipped through the sketchbook to find nothing but pictures of him -- in human and demon faces, happy, sad, scared, determined -- each one different, but every one a drawing of him.

"Well," Wesley said softly after a time, startling Doyle out of his reverie. "He certainly seems to find you a most... agreeable subject."

Doyle stared at the pictures, unable to look away, unable to find his voice.

A hand covered the page he'd been staring at and he glanced up to find Wesley looking at him with what seemed to be concern. "Are you all right? Should I... can I get you anything? A glass of water?"

"I..." He shook his head as he struggled for words. "No... I... can you give me a couple of moments?"

"Of course. Why don't I go and see what Cordelia's up to?" Wesley didn't wait for a response, but turned and after a minute Doyle could hear him going up the stairs to the office.

He didn't look up, unable to tear his gaze from the pictures he was flipping through, unable to stop thinking about Angel drawing them. Hours he must've spent to have so many.

"Hey," Cordelia said. "You okay?"

Startled, Doyle looked up to find Cordelia standing beside him. How did she...? He hadn't even heard her approach. "Wha-- what?"

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she repeated. "Wesley thought maybe you were kind of upset."

Doyle shook himself, forcing himself to focus on something other than the image of Angel drawing him over and over. "I'm okay." He tried to give her a reassuring smile and failed miserably. "It's just..." He gestured down at the sketchbook.

"Yeah, Wesley said... here, let me see," she said, mercifully taking the book from his hands and flipping slowly through the pages. She paused a time or two, seeming to look more carefully at certain drawings. "Huh."

"Yeah. Did you know that he was..." Again he gestured at the book.

Cordelia closed the book and held it against her chest, hugging it as if to keep it from Doyle if it upset him so much. "No. I mean, I knew he could draw... I saw some things he'd drawn before, but they were loose, not in a book or anything. But I didn't know he was drawing _you!_ Geez. Weird."  
"Not weird. Obsessed. With me."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Cordelia tossed the sketchbook down onto a nearby table, where it landed with a dull slap. "Look, Doyle, no offense, but maybe you haven't, you know, completely recovered yet from coming back from the dead. Angel, obsessed with you? Just because he -- "

"Sold his soul to bring me back? Nah, that's not a sign of obsession." Doyle got up and paced, as if he could outdistance the knowledge.

Cordelia moved out of his way, giving him the space to move. "Okay, maybe you've got a point there," she agreed. "But that's not a reason to get all worked up, is it? I mean, it doesn't change anything."

Doyle stopped and turned to face her. "If that was a book full of drawings of you, how would you feel?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "Kind of freaked out? Because, you know, the whole vampire thing. And after what happened with Buffy... but you don't think Angel _likes_ you, do you? I mean, _likes_ likes you?"

"I don't know." He started pacing again, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "He obviously spent a _lot_ of time thinking about me. And considering the detail of those drawings, he had to have been watching me pretty close before...."

"But that would mean that he _liked_ you before you died." She took another step away from where Doyle was attempting to pace, freeing up some more room for him as if she didn't dare get in his way. "And again, what does that change? As far as us needing to go get him means?"

That stopped him dead. "Nothing." He sighed and moved back to the couch. "Nothing at all," he repeated. "We need him back. Then we can deal with whatever this means."

Cordelia watched him for a minute, and then moved over to perch on the arm of the couch, not close enough for him to touch her. "You guys didn't find anything?" she asked, gesturing around the room with a flick of her wrist. "Other than, you know, Vampire-Van-Gogh's little obsession book?"

"No." Doyle sighed again, this time in defeat. "He must've known we'd look and probably got rid of anything we could have used."

"You give him way more credit than I do," Cordelia said dismissively. She looked at him with a thoughtful expression on her face, and then slid down off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion next to him. "You sure you're okay?" she asked, offering her hand, palm up.

Doyle looked at it for a second, then placed his own in it, entwining his fingers with hers, marveling at just having permission to do so. "Yeah," he answered. "Just, y'know, threw me for a moment, finding that."

She nodded. "Don't worry. As soon as we find him, you can smack some sense into him."

That pulled a laugh from him. "You hold him and I'll smack him, eh?"

"Yeah, well... maybe we'll have to wait until we get him _back_ here before you smack him. What if he's... you know, different? I mean, if it's been a long time where he is, and it's really bad there -- what if he's all Grr?"

Doyle leaned his head against the back of the couch with a weary sigh. "I don't know. But we'll figure something out. We have to."

"Maybe we should bring some handcuffs with us," Cordelia said. "Or no -- how about some chains? So that we can, you know, restrain him. I don't -- "She stiffened suddenly beside him, her hand gripping so tightly onto his that it was painful. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" Doyle raised his head to look at her -- just in time to see Cordelia spasm like she had been hit by lightning and cry out in pain. "Cordelia!" he yelled, as he automatically moved to hold her against the painful looking spasms.

Her neck was arched, every muscle clenching so tightly he thought it was a miracle that her bones didn't break. It almost seemed like she wasn't breathing -- but she flung out one arm and gripped onto the fabric of the couch, her fingers blanched with the force of her grasp. She made little pain-filled noises that ripped right into his chest.

There was something familiar about those noises, about the taut bow of her body, but the noises were supposed to be in his voice and it was his muscles that were supposed to be clenched tight against the pain.

He knew what a vision felt like; he'd just never seen one from the outside before.

Cordelia's hands flailed to her sides as if searching for something, and one of them caught onto Doyle's shirt and took hold. She gasped and then blinked her eyes, and the unfocused look gradually became focused again as her body relaxed and then curled in on itself. "Ohhhh," she moaned softly.

Doyle shifted them both until she was leaning against him, raising one hand to brush her hair back and massage her temples right where he knew the pain would be the worst. "What did you see?" he asked softly, hating himself.

She pressed the side of her face against his chest, hard, her hand still coiled in his shirt as if she had no intention of letting go. "Angel," she said, and her voice was hoarse. "And... something dark, and in the shadows... I knew it was something bad, but I couldn't see -- and then a book. It had a brown cover, it looked like linen, maybe. Why would --?"

She pressed even harder against him like she could hide there, so close that no one would see where he ended and she began.

Doyle tightened his embrace, wishing there was more he could do to comfort her. "I'm sorry."

Cordelia twisted her hand in his shirt fabric, but shook her head against his chest. "Just..." She shook her head again. "Need a minute," she whispered.

"Take whatever you need," Doyle told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She stayed there for nearly another minute, just hanging onto him, and then slowly pushed herself more upright. "Shit," she said distinctly. "Okay, that was _so_ not helpful."

"Can I get you anything?" He knew that he always found a finger or two of scotch helped with the lingering pain, but somehow couldn't picture Cordelia downing the hard stuff after every vision like he had.

"A new brain that doesn't come with these handy built-in psychic videos?" she suggested, with a combination of bitterness and humor. "Um, no, I'm okay. I'll take some painkillers in a little while, when I can remember where the hell I left my bag."

"I'm sorry." He couldn't seem to stop apologising, the guilt rising up to cut off any other words. This was his doing. He'd done this to her.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm -- okay, what the heck was that all about? A book? We need Wesley; if anyone knows about books, it's him."

"Should I go get him? And your purse?" Doyle asked, but was reluctant to let go and move away from her.

"No, let's both go upstairs. Most of the books are up there anyway." Cordelia let go of his shirt and managed to get her feet under her through what looked like sheer force of will. Seemingly reluctant to lose contact, she reached for his hand.

Doyle willingly took it, then gave into the irresistible urge he had to pull her into his arms and hug her tightly once again.

Cordelia seemed to melt into the hug, her own arms wrapping around his waist. "This is nice."

"It is," Doyle agreed, trying not to get lost in how right it felt to have her this close.

"We really should go upstairs and find Wes," she said, without loosening her hold on him or moving away. She actually snuggled closer.

"Yeah. Look for this book." He didn't move either, except to rest his cheek against her hair.

Cordelia sighed and he felt her hand on his back stroking in small, gentle circles. For a long moment neither of them moved, both content to take comfort in each other's touch. Finally, she sighed again and lifted her cheek from his shoulder. "We're good," she said. "Time to get a move on."

Doyle sighed, knowing she was right. "Yeah." But he couldn't resist touching his lips to hers, so close were they.

She leaned into the kiss just enough to tell him that she wanted it as much as he did, and then moved back and pulled at his hand. "Upstairs."

"Right." He forced his mind back to business. "Angel, something dark, a book."

"I really hope Wesley can make some sense of this book thing," Cordelia said as they started up the stairs. "What do you think it means?"

"Hopefully, that when we find that book, it'll help us find Angel." Doyle tried not to wonder if he would've been able to make more out of the vision if _he_ had had it. It was an insane thing to be jealous over and one that he wasn't going to let himself indulge in.

"I think maybe that dark thing, I think maybe... it might have been, like, _someone,_ you know? Or... or maybe multiple someones. Do you think they could have been the ones that took Angel?"

Vague memories of a soft voice that dripped darkness while Angel apologized for leaving him went through Doyle's mind. "Yeah, I do."

Cordelia shuddered. "Oh. I definitely don't think that's a good thing. It was.. really icky. I think."

"I... I remember a little from when I was first brought back. I think. It was there."

They reached the top of the stairs and Cordelia started straight for her purse. "Had a vision," she flung over her shoulder at Wesley. "Something about Angel, and a book -- it had a linen-looking cover on it, kind of brown and fabric-y. Ring any bells?" She took a small bottle out of her bag and dry-swallowed two pills.

Wesley was reaching for pad and pen, writing down what he'd been told. "Did you see any writing?"

She appeared to think about this. "No. I don't... well, maybe. Some kind of symbol?" She closed her eyes for a minute. "Yeah. Kind of like..." and she gestured in the air, drawing what looked to be a half-circle with a swooping line through it.

"Like this?" Wesley sketched quickly, then held up the pad with a symbol like the one described on it.

"I think so. Do we have any books like that?"

"Not here, but I think I should be able to track it down." Wesley was already pulling out volumes and going through them.

Doyle had been watching, from his place leaning against the wall. "If you don't need us then, I thought I might take Cordy home," he said, knowing what the aftermath of a vision was like and wanting to do what he could to take care of her.

Wesley nodded. "Yes, you should go home and get some rest," he said to Cordelia. "I'll call you if anything turns up."

Cordelia had her fingers pressed against her temples. "There isn't anything we can do to help? Because I don't want to leave Angel wherever he is any longer than we have to."

"None of us do," Wesley replied seriously. "I promise, if there's anything I need help with, I'll call."

"Okay, then." Cordelia turned to Doyle. "Let's go home."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cordelia unlocked the front door to her apartment with Doyle standing close behind her. It was beyond weird to be back here with him -- she could remember the first time they'd seen the apartment, together.

She pushed the door open and went inside, Doyle at her heels. The overhead light flicked on.

"Thanks, Dennis." She put her bag down on the couch where she usually left it, and gestured to Doyle. "Sit. Is it weird? To be back here, I mean?"

Before Doyle could respond, a teacup floated into the room from the kitchen -- it was kind of a ritual she and Dennis had developed -- he brought her tea, she told him about her day. It was... social. The teacup paused suddenly in mid-air, and then crashed to the floor.

"Oh, yeah," Cordelia said to the silence that followed, rubbing again at her temples to soothe the headache that the crash of shattering china had aggravated. "Doyle's back."

"Hi, Dennis. How's death treating you?" Doyle looked around the room as if trying to catch a glimpse of the ghost, his eyes finally dropping to stare at the slowly spreading puddle of tea on the floor."Err, sorry about that, mate. Guess you're not used to being the scaree, huh?"

The bits of teacup and saucer gathered themselves together and floated back out of the room into the kitchen, and a few seconds later a dishcloth ghosted its way in and dropped down onto the puddle. "Sorry, Dennis," Cordelia said as she crouched down to mop up the spill. "I should have warned you or something." It hadn't even occurred to her that Dennis might react -- let alone react badly -- to Doyle's sudden reappearance.

"It's a good thing you were in heaven, and not a ghost," she said to Doyle. "I don't think there would have been enough room in the apartment for you _and_ Dennis."

Doyle grinned at her. "You would've asked me to move in with you? I'm touched."

"Oh, please. Tell me I wouldn't have had to get someone to do some kind of spell to keep you _out._ "

This time he pouted at her. "You wouldn't have done that, would you, Princess?"

"Probably not. But you and Dennis would have had to work something out between you, and I know he would have kept you in line. Right, Dennis?"

In response, a beer floated out of the kitchen, over to where Doyle sat. Doyle took it with a rather smug smile. "Thanks, pal."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Great. Just what I need, the two of you ganging up on me." She had to fight a smile; it felt amazingly good to be there, even despite the knowledge that Angel was missing and they didn't know how to get him back. "I'll have you both know that this is _my_ apartment, and anyone who gives me a hard time is going to get kicked out. Or banished, or exorcised, or whatever's most appropriate."

Doyle put on a wounded expression. "Oh, that's harsh. You'd throw me out on the street, Princess? Leave me to fend for myself?"

"Somehow I think you could handle it. You managed okay before I came along... actually, come to think of it, you didn't; your clothes alone are proof of that. Okay, you're right -- you obviously need some looking after if we're going to keep the streets safe from walking fashion disasters like yourself. You can stay."

"Thanks. I think."

"Are you hungry? I haven't been to the store for a while, but I think I have some soup in the cabinet." Cordelia wrinkled up her nose. "It's not great, but it's, you know, fast and easy." She was already moving toward the kitchen, wondering if she had any crackers or enough bread for toast. They'd both been going all day -- they'd be dead on their feet if they didn't eat something.

Doyle got up and came over, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder and stop her. "Let me. I know your head must still be pounding from the vision."

"I'm okay," she said, meaning it. Her brain still felt kind of sore, like someone had been tenderizing it with a mallet, but it wasn't that bad. "Although, if you'd like to cook -- assuming we want to consider heating up soup to be, you know, actual cooking -- feel free."

"I'm an expert in heating up soup," Doyle teased. "And in the making of a sandwich. Not much beyond that, though."

"I can imagine. I pretty much max out my abilities at spaghetti."

Doyle laughed. "It's a sad thing that out of the three of us, Angel's the one who cooks the best."

"Yeah, you're right. We're pretty pitiful, aren't we." She gestured with a toss of her head. "Come on, let's see what we've got."

They went into the kitchen and Cordelia rummaged around in the cabinets until she found a couple of cans. "Chicken and rice, or -- ew, did I even buy this? -- cream of celery. I must have thought I was going to make a casserole or something."

Doyle chuckled, and when Cordelia looked over, she caught him giving her an openly affectionate grin.

"What?" She couldn't help but smile back at him. "It's not like you didn't know I _shop._ You can't picture me at the grocery store?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Just realizing... I missed you, even where I was."

The drawer next to Cordelia's hand opened suddenly, and a can opener floated out.

"Um... thanks, Dennis. Are you trying to tell us something?" She took the can opener and handed it and the chicken soup to Doyle. "Open?" Without waiting for a response, she turned and took a pan from a low cabinet, putting on the front burner of the stove.

She heard Doyle sigh behind her, but when she looked up he was opening the can of soup, expression carefully blank.

"I think Dennis is jealous," she said in a loud stage whisper. "He probably wanted me all to himself."

The cabinet door behind her opened, and then closed with a loud bang.

"I know you can hear me, Dennis," Cordelia continued in her regular voice. "Don't forget what I said about that exorcism. I'm happy for you to stay, but if you're going to do something every time you think Doyle and I might be having a moment, it'll be 'so long, thanks for the servitude.'"

Silence greeted that pronouncement and Cordy could almost hear the ghost sulking.

Doyle handed her the open can of soup. "I could go back to the office if my being here is causing problems..." he offered diffidently.

"No," she said, again addressing the air. " _Dennis_ is the one with the problem, but he's going to behave now." She took the soup and dumped it into the pan, added a can full of water, and stirred it until some of the lumps dissolved. "It's really weird how disgusting the soup looks before it gets heated up. It's like you can see every little glob of fat."

She felt Doyle come up directly behind her, close enough for her to feel his heat. "I've seen grosser stuff," he said, and she realized he was looking over her shoulder at the pot of soup. "I think I've probably eaten grosser stuff too."

"Well, it's better than nothing. And anyway, once it heats up it looks normal. It's just while it's cold that it's all... globby. Is globby a word?"

"Mm." His breath tickled her ear. "I believe so, yeah."

"This is so weird," she said quietly.

"What, me?"

"Yeah. I wasn't expecting this. I mean, _obviously_ I wasn't expecting this. Obviously _you_ weren't expecting this. I'm all... stunned. It doesn't seem real." She tried to focus on stirring the soup, but he was being so distracting, standing there behind her.

He chuckled, again sending warm breath past her ear. "Tell me about it. I keep expecting to wake up and find... I don't know. Guess I expect to wake up dead."

"That's not very cheerful," she complained, shivering. She wasn't sure if it was because of the idea or the way his breath was making her hair tickle against her neck.

"Sorry." One of his hands came to rest on her waist.

"No, I meant... oh." Cordelia shivered again. "I'm trying to concentrate, here," she said softly, and this time she really wasn't complaining.

"And I'm bothering you?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Well, yeah. You're being all distracting."

"Sorry," Doyle said again, sounding anything but. In fact, he sounded absolutely smug. "I could go wait in the living room if you want."

"No, stay." She felt stupid, but she knew with complete certainty that she didn't want him sitting in the other room.

"Okay." His other hand went to the other side of her waist.

Soup. Right, she needed to stir the soup. The feel of his hands on her was _more_ than distracting, but she was going to concentrate on this soup if it killed her. And conversation -- shouldn't they be talking? "So..."

"So... What have you been doing since I died?"

"I think we're back to uncheerful topics," Cordelia pointed out. "But since you asked... well, not much, really. I mean, other than the almost getting my eyes cut out and the... oh, yeah, you don't want to hear about _that._ "

"Almost getting...." She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. "That was my fault too, huh?" he finally said softly.

"No, that was this weird psycho-demon's fault. Or I suppose you could blame greed, if you were willing to be less specific, since it was all about money. But it was fine." She turned halfway around between his hands and blinked her eyes at him in demonstration. "See? Two eyes."

Doyle smiled a bit sadly at her. "And very pretty eyes they are too. But they were after Seer's eyes, weren't they?"

"Yes," Cordelia admitted finally. "But that doesn't make it your fault." She wanted to turn back the clock a few minutes, back to the place where stirring the soup had been the big chore.

"Still..."

"I have an idea. Let's just pretend -- just for a little while, a couple of hours? -- that there's no such thing as the Powers That Be. Or visions. Let's just be two normal -- well, in your case _almost_ normal -- people, who are going to eat soup and talk about normal, everyday things. Okay?"

Doyle pretended to think about it. "Would the normal everyday things involve flirting?"

"Sure. As long as they don't include flirting with, say, giant snake demons."

He blinked. "Not going to be a problem, unless there's something you haven't told me about your family tree..."

"Okay, then. The code word for the evening is 'normal.'" Cordelia stirred the soup one more time and then put the spoon down on the stovetop. She took a deep breath before turning in Doyle's arms until she faced him, their noses almost touching.

"Cordy," Doyle asked, his eyes focused on her lips, "would normal include kissing you right now?"

"I think kissing might be normal." There was a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, and for the first time in ages it was a good feeling instead of a bad one. She let her hand slide around to the small of his back, where the muscles were tense, and moved forward the tiniest bit.

He smiled, one hand coming up to rest lightly against the side of her face as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss held less desperation than the ones they'd shared earlier; it was slower, more circumspect. His lips were still warm and his hand on her face was gentle, cradling her as if he wanted to protect her. Cordy felt her hand on his back tighten, gripping onto his shirt to make sure he didn't go anywhere. She thought that she just might be able to kiss him all night.

Doyle's fingers slid back under her hair to cup the back of her neck as he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

She moaned a little bit into his open mouth, surprised at how right it was and thinking that if this was how good just kissing him felt, she was in a world of trouble. She pulled back far enough to speak, but then she didn't know what to say. "Doyle..."

He smiled, the hand not still tangled in her hair, moving to slide around her waist. "I know. Me too."  
"Is this real? You're really you, right?"

He kissed her again. "It's really me, Princess. It's real."

"This is kind of freaky."

"Appropriate, considering what I am..."

"What? No, I didn't mean _that!_ " Cordelia dug her thumb into the small of his back for emphasis. "I meant, you know, because you were _dead._ "

"Yes, because that's a whole 'nother level of freak." The amusement in Doyle's eyes gave away the humor that his deadpan tone did not.

"I said freaky. I didn't say bad."

"So it's a good freaky?" He leaned in, lips hovering just over her own.

"I think when you say freaky too many times it starts to sound like a foreign language," she said, and her mouth brushed against his as she spoke. "Can we move on to some other word, do you think?"

Doyle's lips curled up into a teasing smile. "Any word in particular?"

"Just pick something," she said, and moved forward to press against him.

He kissed her again, making a thorough job of it, leaving her breathless when he pulled back. "How about 'bedroom'?"

"Oh." Cordelia rubbed some little circles on his back with her fingers, trying to think of a way to say this that wouldn't hurt his feelings or give him the wrong idea. "Bedroom's a really, really good word. I like it. I'm just not sure... it's a little soon. You know? And don't take that the wrong way, because it's a _great_ word, and I'm really glad you suggested it, and..."

But Doyle smiled at her, eyes kind and knowing. "And I'm moving way too fast."

"I made soup," she said helplessly, not wanting their embrace to end but, at the same time, needing it to.

"And it should be un-gloppy by now." He kissed her again, this time a brief peck, and moved to let her go.

Trying not to sigh with relief, Cordelia slipped out of Doyle's arms. She managed to get the soup into bowls without spilling any, and gestured at the little table. "This is good," she said as they sat down. "It's bad for your metabolism to go too long without eating."

"I've probably done far worse to my metabolism." Doyle sat down at the table as directed.

"That's for sure. I wonder what condition your liver was in before you died? Do you think it's better now?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Though I was in better condition than you might think. Legacy of being half Brachen." He seemed... subdued, compared to how he'd been earlier.

Cordelia wondered if she should just shut up and let him kiss her, since otherwise she seemed to be constantly saying stuff that upset him. "Am I being a bitch again? You should just tell me, if I am. It's okay -- I won't get offended or anything."

That earned her another quick glimpse of his smile before it faded again. "You're not. I was just... trying to figure out if I owed you an apology."

People didn't surprise her often, but this did because she knew he wasn't talking about the visions. "An apology for what?"

"For... being freaky. I didn't mean to pressure you into anything, you gotta know that Princess."

"I know _that,_ " she said, waving his apology away with a flick of her wrist. "Trust me, Cordelia Chase does not get pressured into anything she doesn't want to do."

Doyle still looked worried. "Sure?"

"Do I look unsure?" She widened her eyes and stared directly into his.

"Not now," he admitted.

"Well, good. Eat your soup and then maybe we can make Dennis jealous some more." Her lips twisted. "Sorry, Dennis," she said. "There, see, I _am_ being a bitch. At least Dennis is used to it."

Doyle ignored the last bit of what she'd said in favour of the earlier part. "So you still want to..."

She smiled. He could be such an idiot sometimes, even though it was pretty nice that he was so gentlemanly and concerned. "If you still want to."

"I'm sure you know the answer to that," Doyle teased with a sudden grin, mood once again swinging towards happy.

"Eat. Soup." Cordelia pointed with her spoon toward his bowl. She rolled her eyes at the ceiling dramatically. "After all the trouble I go to, slaving over a hot stove..."

Doyle snorted. "For all of ten minutes. And I kept you entertained."

"Are you telling me you don't buy my oppressed housewife persona?" she demanded. "Because I thought that was a darned good imitation."

"Ahh...." He paused. "This is where I'm supposed to compliment your acting skills?"

"If I have to _ask_ for the compliments then forget it." She ate another spoonful of soup. "You know, I'd really forgotten how awful canned soup is."

"I don't know." Doyle ate some of his. "I kinda like it."

"Our housekeeper used to make this amazing soup," Cordelia said, aware that her eyes were probably glazing over as she reminisced. "With a real chicken, and kale and carrots. It was sooo good." She sat up straighter in her chair. "Of course, that was when we actually had money."

"My mum used to make soup when I was little," Doyle offered. "I used to love the way it made the kitchen smell."

She just managed to stop herself from saying something potentially stupid like "I guess it doesn't take money, then." She grinned at him, and instead said, "Too bad we don't know how to cook for real."

"Once we find Angel, maybe we can see about learning."

"Yeah. In the meantime, though, this stuff has got to go." She carried her bowl over to the sink and poured the rest of the soup down the drain, and then leaned against the counter and looked at him thoughtfully as he spooned up the last of his soup. "Do you want some crackers, or something?"

He shook his head. "I'm good."

"I don't know why Dennis got so weird," Cordelia said. "He never used to do that when you were over here."

"I never came back from the dead before. Which, when you are dead, could seem unfair."

"Oh. Good point. I hadn't thought of that." She grinned at him. "I can't believe you're in my kitchen eating soup. I keep saying that, don't I. Not about the soup... I mean, that I can't believe you're here."

"You keep saying that."

"Isn't that what I just said?" She started to wonder if she was losing her mind. She had to keep reminding herself that Angel was missing, and probably in big trouble -- that didn't seem any more real than Doyle being in her apartment did. All she wanted to do was keep touching him, to reassure herself that he was really there and wasn't going to go away.

"Yeah." Doyle winked at her. "Was just confirming the fact."

"I keep thinking I'm going to turn around and when I look back you're going to be gone."

"Hey." His smile disappeared and he got up and came over to where she was standing, reaching out to take her hands in his. "I'm here. I'm real. I'm not gonna disappear."

Cordelia took a deep breath and let it out all at once, leaning in to rest her forehead against his shoulder. That was one good thing about shorter men -- it was really comfortable. She took her right hand out of his and wrapped that arm back around his waist where it had been earlier. "Promise?"

Doyle's free arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer. "Promise."

"What if... I mean, that deal that Angel made, to get you back? What if we find him and get him home and that cancels out the deal? What if we're just trading you for him?"

"Cordy..." He sighed, resting his head against hers. "If it comes down to that... I can't let Angel sacrifice himself for me."

She responded fiercely, before she could even think. " _No._ We can't -- that's -- we won't do that. We'll figure something else out, trade something else. Tell me we'll figure out something else."

"Cordy --"

Cordelia tore herself out of his arms, turned away from him, taut with sudden anguish. "Then -- just go away now. Go on. If you won't -- " She knew she was going to cry, and was equally determined not to in front of him, not if he wasn't even going to _try_ to stay. But her mouth betrayed her again, speaking for her when she didn't intend to, spilling her secret truths. "Please don't leave again."

She heard Doyle take a step towards her. "Cordy, if you let me explain --"

"Fine. Explain." Her voice was tight and clipped. "But you'd better make it good."

"I want to stay, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure I do. You think I'm not going to do my best to find a way to be able to do that and get Angel back? If there's a way, we'll find it." She could hear the determination in his voice.

"We'll _make_ a way," she said, and her own voice sounded shaky. "We -- I'm not going to let you go again, no matter how annoying you are."

"I won't make you a promise I'm not sure I can keep. But I will promise that short of sacrificing you or Angel, I'll do whatever I have to, to stay." Doyle paused and then asked, "Do you still want me to go?"

"Yes." Cordelia shook her head. "No. Don't go."

"Am I going to get hit if I try to hug you?"

She shook her head again, wordlessly this time, wanting desperately to be in his arms but ashamed to admit it.

Without another word, he put a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her around where he was able to wrap his arms around her tightly.

Her own arms were wrapped around her stomach, holding herself together, so she couldn't do anything but let him hold her and try not to tremble. In her head she was begging him not to go, telling him that she'd do anything if he'd promise to stay, but she kept her teeth firmly clamped onto her lip to keep herself from saying any of the things that she was thinking. She knew that he could probably feel her shaking, but she didn't know how to stop.

Doyle just held her tightly, murmuring, "It's all right, everything's going to be all right," over and over.

Eventually his words started to sink in, and she could feel the trembling ease off. "Doyle?"

"Yeah, Princess?"

"Do you remember... that word we were talking about before?"

She felt him freeze for a moment. "Yes..." he finally responded cautiously.

"Do you think you might... still...?"

He pulled back enough to grin at her. "Oh yeah."

Cordelia leaned in to kiss him, just once. "Come on, then," she said, and took his hand to lead him to the bedroom.

Doyle followed, uncommonly quiet.

In the doorway she paused and kissed him again, long and slowly, letting her hand trace down his back, feeling the smooth muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. "Is this okay?" she asked, brushing her lips against his ear.

She felt him shiver and he chuckled. "Better than okay."

Walking backward, she continued to kiss him while heading for the bed. She sat down on the edge and pulled Doyle down to join her. "I don't think I ever had the chance to tell you," she said, "that you're a really great kisser."

He smiled, quick and sunny and kissed her again. "You inspire me."

"That's me," she agreed. "An endless source of inspiration." Then his tongue started doing that little licking thing again and she forgot that she was supposed to be the one who was good at talking.

They spent the next few minutes necking like teenagers, losing themselves in each other's touch. The next thing Cordelia knew she was lying on her back, Doyle lying beside her, his hand sliding underneath her top, caressing the bare skin of her stomach.

Her own hands were also busy, one clutching his arm and the other up in his hair, which was _way_ softer than it looked. Despite how good everything felt, she was starting to get a funny feeling in her stomach, a nervous feeling like she was doing something wrong. Which was totally stupid, since this was _Doyle._

Doyle's hand slid up further, cupping her breast, lowering his head to nip at her throat, not hard, just sharp enough to send little zings of sensation along her nerves.

And that was familiar somehow, not in a Doyle-way but in a been-there-done-that kind of way. Wilson. That's what this was reminding her of -- not of the sex, which had been good, and she'd been so _careful_ \-- but of the end result. Of waking up and discovering that she was _way_ more pregnant than was possible... And oh God, she needed to tell Doyle. She couldn't just let him do this, without knowing how she'd been...

She was suddenly very, very convinced that she was going to scream. Cordelia shoved Doyle off of her and bolted for the bathroom, slamming and locking the door in place behind her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

For a moment all Doyle could do was stare at the doorway Cordelia had bolted through after shoving him away like... well, like she used to in his nightmares.

Stomach clenching, he got up and knocked tentatively on the bathroom door. "Cordy? Did I -- Are you all right?"

For a minute everything was quiet. Then he heard her say, very softly, "I'm -- I'm okay. I just need a minute. Okay? Don't -- don't leave."

Doyle frowned. Cordy sounded.... "I'm right here," he told her, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. "I'm not going anywhere, unless you ask me to."

More silence, lasting longer this time. Doyle was just about to say something, anything, when he heard Cordelia move. There was a very soft sound on the other side of the door, and he could imagine her leaning her head against it. "After you died, I did something really stupid."

"Yeah?" Doyle asked softly, leaning his own head against the door. It was the closest she was letting him get right then.

"There was this guy." She paused, and then said the name reluctantly, like she wasn't sure she should. "Wilson. And he was... I thought he was a nice guy. He drove me home and I invited him in and we..."

"Oh." He almost said is that all, but stopped himself before the words could pass his lips. He didn't need to work at being insensitive after all. "The bad one night stand is almost a right of passage," he said instead. "I take it this was... particularly bad?"

"Understatement of the century," Cordelia answered. "It wasn't -- I mean, it was fine, as far as it went. And I was _careful,_ you know?"

"You would be," Doyle replied, absolutely certain that she wouldn't take any chances in such an encounter. Fighting demons and vampires was enough risk for anyone.

"But it didn't matter. Wilson and some of his friends were in cahoots with some huge demon, and they got me and bunch of other girls pregnant." Her voice was growing stronger as she spoke; it was as if just telling him made her feel better. "So -- it's not you, you know? I just -- sorry. Sorry. I got kind of freaked out for a minute there, but I'm okay. I was... kind of scared to tell you."

Doyle seemed stuck on the words "demon" and "pregnant." Cordy -- his Cordy -- violated that way. He just couldn't... "What happened?" he asked, voice coming out strained and hoarse.

"Oh, you know, Angel and Wesley to the rescue. They killed the bad guy and that was the end of the... problem." He heard her take a deep breath. "This is stupid. I'm coming out."

There was the click of the lock, and then she opened the door and stood there, the expression on her face a mixture of embarrassment and pride.

_Good,_ he thought, wanting to see her eyes. He'd be able to tell if she was really all right if he could look into her eyes. He backed up a couple of steps to give her space.

Cordelia tucked her hair back behind her ears and glanced at him. "Sorry," she said again. "I would have warned you in advance if I'd known I was going to have a big spaz."

"S'okay." He reached out a hand to touch her, but let it fall before he made contact, unsure of his welcome. "At least you came back. You never --" Doyle cut himself off before he could start exposing some things that were probably better left unsaid.

She leaned against the door frame, tucking her hair again self-consciously even though from what he could see she had it under control. "I never what?"

She was going to make him say it. Not quite able to meet her eyes, he admitted, "You never came back. In my dreams... nightmares, really. When you found out what I was."

"You mean... Doyle, I _told_ you that didn't matter to me." She sounded exasperated, but her voice was gentle. "This thing with the... with Wilson, it was _completely_ different."

"Yeah. That's why you had 'the big spaz.'"

Cordelia stood up straighter and crossed her arms defiantly. "I'll have you know that that had _nothing_ to do with you being part demon. I'm not racist or... species-ist or whatever. I wasn't thinking about that _at all._ I was thinking about..." She faltered slightly, and then went on, "About how I couldn't do anything without telling you. About what happened. Because you might not want to... if you knew."

"What?" Immediately he moved forward, reaching out and resting his hands on her arms. "That wasn't even a possibility. Especially for something that was done _to_ you..." He trailed off. "You really thought I'd reject you? For any reason?"

"Oh, come on. It's icky -- admit it." She raised her chin. "I don't want to play all these games where you say it doesn't make any difference... it does. And if it doesn't make enough of a difference to matter, that's cool. Great, even. But it happened, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't."

Doyle shook his head. "It doesn't make a difference, not to how I feel about you, or how much I want you."

"Really?" She gifted him with a tiny smile and put one hand against his chest. "Are you sure?"

Trying to put all that he felt into his gaze, he nodded, sliding one hand up to caress her cheek. "Never surer about anything."

"Good," she said. And kissed him.

Like every time before they'd kissed, he lost himself in the feel, the taste. Doyle knew he'd be happy to just keep doing this the rest of the night. The rest of his life.

Cordelia was pressing up against him, one arm wrapped around his waist. She made a little happy sound in the back of her throat and moved back. "And just FYI," she said, and kissed him again, "I've just established a new policy against my having spazzes."

"Good to know." He nuzzled her jawline. "But if I do anything that makes you... uncomfortable..."

"Angel always says to go for the groin," she said thoughtfully, as if she were seriously considering it. "But hey... I'm not worried. Don't you be, either, okay?"

"Don't worry, she says. After talking about going for the groin."

"I was kidding. Well, kind of." Her lips were doing distracting things to his ear, and her breath was warm against his skin as she spoke. "I don't think this is what Angel was talking about when he said 'go for the groin,'" and to illustrate her point, she moved her hips forward into his.

Doyle couldn't quite repress a groan at the motion; he was already hard and only getting harder. "That kind of groin action I can work with."

Cordelia's hand slid down to his lower back and then still further, just resting there lightly as if she were testing him. "I'm glad. Doyle?"

"Yeah, Princess?" he breathed, kissing her neck.

"It's okay for you to touch me. Touch me however you want."

He groaned again, pulling her tighter against him. "Do you know how much I've dreamed of being able to do that?"

She shifted her weight forward onto her toes and it was like heaven all over again. "Do it," she urged. "If you want to. Show me."

He kissed her again breathlessly. "Bed?"

"Bed," she agreed, and took his hand to lead him back to it. She gave him a gentle shove so that he fell onto the mattress, and this time she was the one in charge of what was happening, and she was on top of him and pressing against him. Those little happy noises were back, and her hand had slid up under his shirt and was smoothing over his ribcage.

He shivered, her simple touch against his bare skin more arousing than he had imagined it could be. He reached up, sliding his own hands under her top again. "I wanna see you."

For a few seconds he wondered if that had been a good idea, since it required her to shift her weight and the end result was her straddling him. He took a deep breath for control and then another as she pulled her shirt up and over her head, her hair falling back down in glorious waves around her shoulders.

Doyle froze, staring at her. Then he reached up and stroked a hand down her side. "Beautiful."

She smiled and leaned back down, kissing him again, her tongue sliding against his lower lip slowly as if they had all the time in the world. "You're really here," she said gently, speaking into his mouth.

"Yeah." He felt his lips curl up into a smile, still pressed against hers. "I am." He felt giddy, lightheaded, wanting to laugh out loud.

She went back to kissing him, lingeringly, her lower body shifting on his in ways that made him gasp and ache. Her warm palm was under his shirt again, sliding over his stomach, caressing him.

Doyle wrapped his arms around her, palms flat against the warm skin of her back as he pulled her closer. He slid his fingers up until he reached the fastenings on her bra and deftly undid them.

Cordelia made a little gasping sound as he slipped the straps from her shoulders. Her hand clutched briefly at his upper arm, her mouth returning to his urgently. Her earlier slow, lazy touching was replaced by something closer to desperation. "Doyle," she said, and it wasn't a request for his attention as much as a statement of immediacy.

"I'm here," he replied, the words swallowed by her desperate kiss. He shifted his weight, rolling them over until Cordy was lying beneath him, losing himself in the way their tongues were tangled together.

Cordelia's left hand was sliding up under his shirt and her right moved down to cup his ass, pulling him more tightly against her. Her breath was warm and her mouth tasted sweet, and when he lowered his lips finally to her perfect breast she gasped again and arched into him with a small noise of pleasure.

He teased her nipple with teeth and tongue, brushing his thumb over the peak of her other breast, listening to the soft gasps of pleasure Cordy was making. He pushed his hips against her in an instinctive attempt to ease the growing ache, frustrated by the layers of clothing that still separated them.

She seemed to sense something because she was pulling at his shirt, trying to get it off over his head. He did his best to help and when she tossed it onto the floor and pulled him back down onto her she sighed and ran her hands over his bare skin. "That's a little better," she said, right before lifting her head to press her lips to his shoulder.

Doyle gasped at the feeling of her skin against his own. "Yeah," he replied, arching his neck and back, giving her mouth better access to more of his skin. The movement also pressed his erection more firmly against her and he groaned.

Cordelia's tongue was tracing along his collarbone and leaving a hot moist trail, and then her lips fastened on his throat and she sucked gently, drawing his skin into her mouth. He could feel the blood rushing to the surface there, attracted to the pull of her lips like a moth to a flame. She moved back slightly then and said, with an apologetic grin, "Sorry -- I'm gonna give you a hickey if I'm not careful."

"Don't be," he blurted. "I mean... you don't have to worry about it. I'm good with hickeys. Really." He realized that he was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop. "I want you to do whatever you want to."

A little gleam flashed behind her eyes. "Anything I want?" she asked, with a flicker of a smile that looked -- dare he think it -- slightly evil.

It sent shivers of arousal down his spine and made him smile back, quite probably like an idiot. "Yeah. Anything."

Grabbing onto him hard, she rolled them back the way they'd come, putting herself on top of him again. Skin on skin, she slid down slowly, licking and nibbling at him from throat to chest. She focused on one nipple for a few seconds, scraping it gently with her teeth, and then moved lower to kiss his stomach with little brushes of her lips.

Doyle caught his breath at something that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh. His nervous system couldn't seem to decide if the light touches tickled or were the best thing he'd felt since... well since a minute ago when Cordy had kissed him.

Cordelia's fingers hooked into the waistband of his slacks, her fingernails resting just underneath the fabric as her tongue slid lower to tease the line of dark hairs that started below his navel. Her hand traveled over to the fastenings on his pants, moving tantalizingly across his skin, and stopped when her fingers had settled on the button. "What if I wanted to do this?" she asked, and slipped the button free.

Doyle darted his tongue out to lick at his lips, trying to keep still when all he wanted to do was thrust up against her. "Please."

She pressed another kiss onto his stomach just before she slid his zipper down, so slowly that he thought he could hear each individual bit of metal as it separated from the one next to it. "And this?"

This time he was utterly incapable of not arching into her touch. "Cordy..."

"I know," she said, and slipped her hand inside of his slacks and underwear, wrapping her fingers around his cock. Doyle made a strangled sound and threw his arm up over his eyes as she stroked him gently and her tongue traced circles on his rib cage.

Doyle dug his hands into the sheets and concentrated on not coming then and there.

Slowly, Cordelia worked her way back up his body with her tongue, licking up the side of his neck to breathe warmly into his ear before kissing him again. At no point did her hand falter in its careful movements. "So this is okay, then?" she asked, looking as if she already knew the answer.

"Better than okay. It's..." he broke off in a groan as her thumb swirled around the head of his cock, then moved away. "Oh god, do that again."

She made a little sound of amusement and repeated the motion, taking his groan into her mouth as she kissed him. Her hips shifted and she threw one leg up and over his, her breast brushing his chest as she rocked against his thigh.

Getting a hold on his arousal, Doyle moved one hand to her breast, while the other he slid down her body, fingers pressing between her legs, touching her through her pants.

Cordelia whimpered and kissed him harder, pushing against his fingers. She pulled back from his lips and her own were slightly swollen and reddened, her face flushed with desire. "Doyle..." she said helplessly.

He leaned up to place tiny nipping kisses all around her mouth. "I want to touch you," he murmured against her lips. "All of you."

"Show me," she said, in echo of her earlier words.

He kissed her hard, his hands moving to undo the pants she wore and push them down off her hips.

She wriggled out of her pants and shoved them down the rest of the way, and then moved forward, pressing against him again. The feel of her, naked next to him, was nearly overwhelming, and when her hand closed over his erection he thought he might die again right then and there.

He sought out her lips, kissing her with all the urgency that was building. He slid a hand down to rest on her hip, pulling her closer.

"Doyle?" she murmured.

"Yeah, Princess?"

"Um... don't you think you might be a little, you know, overdressed?"

"Huh?" He blinked and looked down at himself, only then realizing he still had his trousers on.

"Yeah. I'm feeling kinda silly here, all naked all by myself." She released her grip on him and trailed her hand up across his skin to rest over his heart. "Think you might like to join me?"

"Oh yeah." With a few quick wriggles and movements, he'd kicked the pants off onto the floor.

Tugging on him gently until he rolled onto his side to face her, Cordelia ran her hand down the length of his body, starting at his shoulder and ending on his thigh. "There. That's better."

"Yeah," he repeated, kissing her again, then pausing, just resting his forehead against hers. "Do you know how many times I dreamed about being here?"

She took his face between her hands and kissed him on the mouth, then on the end of his nose and both eyelids. Her eyes were dark and serious, but there was a hint of a smile around her lips as she asked, "A lot?"

He felt himself smiling back. "Only every night." He kissed her again, pulling her close, rolling her underneath him.

Cordelia made a soft sound of pleasure and one of her long legs came up and wrapped itself around his, her ankle hooking behind his knee. "God, I want you," she said. "Doyle..." It sounded as if she was repeating his name for the pure joy of being able to say it.

"Been dreaming of that, too," he said with a grin, then began to trail kisses down her body.

He felt her slim fingers wind their way into his hair as he used his mouth to love her, licking and kissing her throat and then her breasts and still lower to the soft skin of her belly. She was panting, little light breaths that sounded sweet, and then, even sweeter, she breathed his name again. "Doyle..."

If she kept saying his name like that, Doyle was going to be in serious danger of losing it. He kissed her stomach again, sliding his hand between her legs, her wetness slick against his fingers.

Cordelia gave a little cry and moved into his touch, her grip on his hair tightening for a few seconds before relaxing. He marveled at her warmth, at her desire for him which was so obvious as he touched her, and she moaned and shifted and her eyes were closed.

"God, you're so beautiful." The words slipped out without conscious thought. He moved his fingers, watching her face closely to see what movements, what touches, had the most effect.

She arched beneath his hand, moaning again. "Doyle... please..."

He had to taste her. Pushing her legs further apart, he shifted downward and ran his tongue over all the places his fingers had just explored.

With his hand on her thigh, he could feel her trembling, shaking beneath him, all for _him._ It was such an incredible thought that he felt light-headed, and he doubled his efforts. Cordelia twisted her free hand into the pillow behind her and gripped at it, and then suddenly she stiffened and cried out, her hips making small rocking motions as she came, hard, sobbing his name.

When she had calmed, he moved back up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips.

"Wow," she said finally, pulling back and looking at him with wide eyes. "That was... wow."

Doyle laughed, the joy bubbling up from inside him, falling from his mouth. He kissed her again. "Yeah, it was."

She grabbed onto him then, pulling him closer so that she could kiss him with more determination. Her tongue teased his lower lip, and then her teeth nipped at it gently. She thrust upward with her hips, her skin warm and smooth beneath him.

"Oh god," he groaned, he pulled away, panting for air, closer to coming than he wanted to admit. "Princess, I need..."

Cordelia rolled over gracefully, away from him, but he was only confused for as long as it took her to rummage in the drawer of the little table next to the bed and produce a small foil-wrapped packet. "One of these?" she asked, holding it up between thumb and forefinger.

Doyle reached for it, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting home again. Cordelia was... He looked up and met her eyes, his own serious. "Are you sure?"

Her fingers caressed his gently as the condom exchanged hands. "As long as these things work as barriers against half-demon sperm, then yeah. I'm sure."

He leaned in and kissed her, it quickly turning passionate again.

Cordelia's arm wrapped around his waist, her hand rubbing at his back. She scooted closer and her breasts brushed against his chest, and her other hand came up to cup the side of his face. When he continued to kiss her without making any other move forward, she moaned. "Please," she said, and he thought he could hear desperation in her voice. "I need you. Inside..."

Doyle swallowed a groan at the plea. "Yeah," he said, kissing her again, then fumbling with the condom.

She lay back against the pillows, her hair in chestnut waves, one hand resting on the smooth white skin over her hip. The other hand stroked at Doyle's thigh, tickling gently over the hair there. "You look so good," she said, a little smile turning up the corners of her lips.

His fingers were trembling by the time he got the packet open. He wanted this so badly... With a ironic smile, he held the condom out to Cordy. "Get me ready?"

Cordelia took it from him, and then he had to close his eyes as her fingers touched him gently. She didn't seem to have a lot of experience at the task, but after a minute or so she managed to roll the condom down over his erection. "Come here."

He didn't need to be told twice, settling between her legs, pushing teasingly against her, but not entering, not quite. "Cordy..." he murmured, meeting and holding her gaze as he slowly pushed into her.

She whispered "Oh God," very quietly, and then her hands were clutching at him, and he felt her fingernails graze the skin over his shoulder blade. Her eyes closed and her teeth came down into her lower lip, biting on it to stifle the sounds she seemed unable to stop herself from making.

Sounds that she was making in response to him. That in itself was heady enough; coupled with the feeling of being surrounded by her warmth, being held by her, being _in_ her... he felt like he was back in heaven.

Cordelia's hands and voice urged him on, the repetition of his name like a song in his ears. As he thrust into her, she rocked her hips up to meet him, and then to his delight he felt one of her long legs come up to wrap itself around him. "Oh God," she whispered again as he moved forward once more.

He tried to keep his pace slow, lingering over each thrust; he wanted this to last, wanted to hear Cordy make those sounds for as long as possible, wanted to feel her moving against him, around him.

The way that her breathing was speeding up, the way she was gripping onto him, the way her eyes were starting to look unfocused -- all of these together told him that he was definitely doing something right. He bent his head to take her mouth with his, and she made a little sound of surprise just before suddenly tightening beneath him, and he felt her soft warmth clench around him enticingly.

It was Doyle's turn to groan, as the sight of Cordelia's pleasure brought him closer to his own. He lost the slow measured rhythm, thrusting hard and fast, feeling it building inside him.

He was gasping now, small involuntary whimpers mixed in with the panting breaths, tremors going through his muscles as he hovered on the edge. "Cordy..." he gasped, needing something to push him over but unsure of what.

She wrapped her other leg up around his waist, pulling him closer, allowing him greater access to her warm depths. Arching her back under him, she brought her mouth up next to his ear and licked at it delicately. In a low, aching voice she said, "I want to feel you come. Please..."

That was more than enough. Doyle exploded, yelling Cordy's name as the pleasure poured over him.

For what felt like minutes he shook in her arms, finally collapsing down against her, his cheek resting above her breast. One of Cordelia's hands was at the back of his neck, playing with his hair, and the other was idly stroking the small of his back.

He turned his head, lazily placing a kiss on the skin beneath his lips. "That was..."

"Wow?" she suggested.

"Heaven," he said, lifting his head enough to meet her eyes. "It was heaven."

The implication of this sank in and she smiled, her lower lip trembling. "That's good to know," she said softly.

Doyle kissed her gently. "Hey, you're not going to cry on me, are you?"

"No," she said, and kissed him back. "Nope. Just a whole lot of happy here."

"I take it that it was 'wow' for you too?"

"Are you kidding? Any more 'wow' and I wouldn't be conscious."

Doyle grinned, knowing it must be at least a little smug.

Cordelia stroked his hair again, lingeringly. "Hey," she said with a grin, wriggling underneath him pointedly. "You're heavy."

"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't able to actually able to sound apologetic. Too busy sounding happy and smug. But he pulled out, and rolled over to the side, taking a moment to dispose of the condom in the wastepaper basket by the bed.

As soon as he had settled himself back on a pillow, Cordelia snuggled over into his side, her hair a soft cloud against his shoulder. "Are you good?" she asked, stifling a yawn with her hand.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he teased, his arms automatically going around her body, pulling her closer.

"I'm good," she sighed. Her eyelids were already starting to close, her breathing warm and slow across his chest.

Doyle watched her as she drifted off to sleep. "Yeah, you are," he murmured.

 

Cordelia swam up out of sleep slowly, one sense at a time reestablishing itself. Fabric beneath her cheek, skin against her fingers. A faint sound of breathing that wasn't her own. The smell of something that didn't belong in her bedroom, something male. She opened her eyes to see Doyle, head cradled on his own arm, the pillow shoved up against the head of the bed.

God, she needed to brush her teeth.

She studied his sleeping face. He looked so... peaceful was the word, probably, and it was one she was so unused to thinking in the same sentence as Doyle that she couldn't look away. He looked younger like this, with the lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed away. He was on his side facing her, and her hand was thrown over his waist. She wondered how long they could get away with just staying here -- not getting up, not leaving the apartment, not... right, going to rescue Angel. Okay, maybe not long. It was nice for now, though, watching him sleep.

Unbidden, her hand rubbed across his skin gently. It was smoother and softer than she'd have guessed. Not surprisingly, he stirred at her touch.

She looked down at her hand, watching it skim over his chest. When she looked up again she saw that Doyle's eyes were open and watching her.

"Hey," she said, and her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears.

"Hey," he replied, still watching her.

"You sleep okay? I think I kind of conked out on you there." She grinned, feeling self conscious.

"I didn't mind." He was still watching her and Cordy could detect a certain wariness in his eyes.

Like he was waiting for the ax to fall.

Cordelia moved her hand up to cup his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there on his chin. She wanted to say the _right_ thing -- for this one moment she actually _cared_ about saying the right thing -- and she didn't know what it was. "I hope this isn't where you say that thing about how it was really fun, but you're not interested in a serious relationship," she finally said.

It took a few of what were very long seconds for Cordelia, but then Doyle's eyes warmed and a huge grin split his face. "I'm not going anywhere, Princess. Less you tell me to."

"I'm not gonna forget you said that," she said, and then winced as the ceiling light went on suddenly, the brightness hurting her eyes.

"Dennis! Did you forget our little conversation earlier? I'm not going to put up with this kind of crap from you." The light went back off. "I'm getting the feeling that he's not too crazy about all of this."

Doyle squinted at the empty room around them. "Good morning, Dennis."

"Shh," Cordelia said. "Let's not encourage him."

"No?" Doyle looked back at her. "You have something else in mind we should be doing?"

The way he was looking at her made her ache for him. He'd treated her so gently, as if he worshipped the ground she walked on; it made her feel totally cherished. "You have no idea," she said, running her hand across his chest again, "what you're doing to me, do you."

Doyle covered her hand with his own, entwining their fingers. "Why don't you tell me?"

"God." She closed her eyes. She'd willingly eat up all the praise anyone wanted to throw her way, but she wasn't nearly as good at giving it. Okay, that was a major understatement -- she _sucked_ at it. "You just... you make me feel wonderful. _Like_ I'm wonderful. I can't believe you were gone and now you're back and you're really here, with me..."

He leaned in and kissed her, lingering over tracing her lower lip with his tongue. "You _are_ wonderful," he told her when he drew back. A tiny smile turned the corners of his mouth up. "And you know that."

"Yeah, but it's still nice." She slid closer to him, wanting to feel his skin against hers, wanting to feel the evidence that she was wanted, desired. She pushed her face into the hollow between his throat and shoulder and licked, kissed, nibbled.

She felt a pleased rumble go through him. "So's that." Doyle's hands smoothed down her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her closer.

Cordelia couldn't help but make a little happy sound at the feel of him, couldn't help but rub herself wantonly against him. She didn't remember another time when she'd _wanted_ like this. There'd been times when she'd wondered if there was something wrong with her, if her experience with Xander hadn't somehow turned her off of men because she just wasn't a touchy-feely kind of person. Now she felt like she was throwing all of that away. She pushed the part of her that ached against him again, more firmly, and as she did she worked at that same spot on his throat, coaxing the blood underneath the skin toward the surface, calling it.

Another rumble, this time more clearly a moan and Doyle tilted his head back, giving her better access. His fingers slid lower, between her legs.

"Doyle," she whimpered, and she didn't even care if it sounded embarrassing. His fingers were sliding into her, gently moving over the place that so badly needed to be touched. She let her head rest against his shoulder and whimpered again, unable to stop herself from rocking against his hand.

"I love hearing you say my name like that," Doyle told her, his fingers continuing to move against her, in her.

"M'not... gonna be able... to say anything... if you keep _doing_ that." She could barely force herself to speak. She didn't even want to _think_ about what he'd done to get so good at what he was doing to her. He seemed to know just how to touch her. Her hand gripped onto his arm, fingers digging into the muscle. Each little stroke brought her that much closer... "Oh god. Doyle, that's so..."

"Nice?" Doyle asked, eyes bright with teasing and arousal. He kissed her again, light and just as teasing as his words, his fingers never stilling. "I wanna see you come," he told her when he pulled back enough to speak.

Cordelia whimpered, the sound high-pitched, caught at the back of her throat. It was so good that she wanted to wait, but he suddenly switched to light little fluttering presses in _just_ the right spot and the feeling rushed over her, sweeping down from her lower belly and up from her thighs and ending right where his fingers touched her. She closed her eyes and arched against him, crying out as the world fell away beneath her.

Doyle continued to touch her as she flew, prolonging the pleasure, and continued as she began to calm, lighter now, seeming aware of how sensitive she was after her climax, but he didn't stop. Almost before the intensity of her orgasm had faded, she began to feel her arousal building again.

"Oh," she said breathlessly. "Oh, Doyle, I don't know if..." But he kept on, and it was sort of like another step had been added, somehow, like there was one more stair to climb. "Oh..."

Doyle was watching her face closely as he caressed her, eyes dark and filled with wonder. "You look..." he trailed off with the same wonder in his voice.

Cordelia was so caught up in what his fingers were doing that she couldn't think. Each time he moved them she thought she was going to come again, and each time it eluded her by a tiny fraction of... something. So close... She whimpered.

When Doyle nipped at her lips then devoured them in a passionate kiss, it was just what she needed.

The orgasm slammed into her this time like a shock wave, rushing through her and back out the other side, leaving her wrung out and shaking, panting for breath.

Doyle pulled her close, kissing her long and languidly as she recovered, running a soothing hand up and down her back.

When she'd managed to come back to herself, she wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him back. "Please tell me you're not trying to kill me."

"I'm not trying to kill you," Doyle dutifully echoed. "Maybe melt you into a puddle..."

"Consider that part a success, then." Cordelia kissed him again, her tongue slipping inside his mouth to taste him. She let her fingers trace down the front of his body: chest, ribs, stomach, still lower until they encountered the evidence of his desire for her. She touched him gently, letting the tips of her fingers explore him carefully in a way she'd been too eager for the night before.

Doyle's eyes were going darker, his mouth open slightly as his breathing quickened.

Seeing the expression on his face, the want there, she slid down, letting her hair brush against his chest and stomach. Tentatively, she brushed her lips over the soft skin of his erection, feeling the heat that radiated from him. Her tongue stole out to lick him, just once.

"God, Cordy..." Doyle groaned, his whole body jerking at the touch.

Cordelia hadn't done this more than a handful of times, and usually then because she'd thought she should. But the way that Doyle had focused on her own pleasure so single-mindedly had left her feeling inspired, wanting to give him something back, so she took hold of his cock with one hand and wrapped her lips around the head, slowly taking him in.

Doyle made a strangled noise, going stock still. "Yes... please..."

Inwardly smiling at his encouragement, she swirled her tongue around a couple of times to help make everything a little more slick and then let him slip back out. When she moved forward again she used some suction, concentrated on taking him in as far as she could, until he was nudging against the back of her throat.

She could feel his muscles trembling, but he remained motionless. Doyle was panting harshly now, interspersed with breathy little whimpers.

Her free hand stroking his thigh, she continued, alternating sucking on just the head with taking him in as deeply as she could, feeling his trembling increase. He sounded like he'd forgotten how to breathe right -- there wasn't a rhythm to it anymore, just a frantic gasping for air. She let him slide down into the back of her throat again, and then swallowed.

Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, tightening their grip as if to pull her away. "Going... going to..."

She immediately wondered if for some reason he didn't want to come in her mouth, and she couldn't reassure him that she really didn't mind without releasing him. Taking her mouth away, she instead stroked him quickly with her hand, sliding her fingers up and over the head of his cock the way he'd seemed to like the night before.

Doyle groaned and his whole body arched up into her touch.

Cordelia moved up to kiss him, repeating the motion with her fingers a second and third time, opening her mouth to his tongue, urging him on.

Doyle's hands were holding onto her tightly again and with a wordless cry, he came.

She gentled her touch, continuing to stroke him as he spilled out over her fingers. She kissed his lower lip and then his jaw, and then moved to his ear and kissed it as well.

With a sigh, Doyle relaxed back against the bed, his eyes seeking out hers. "Wow," he said with a smile.

She smiled back and leaned down against him, her chin on his shoulder. "So I take it that was okay?"

"Okay? Princess, that was so far beyond okay, I'm surprised the top of my head didn't explode."   
  
"I'm _glad_ the top of your head didn't explode. I only bought these sheets a couple of months ago."   
  
Doyle chuckled. "Still going to need to wash them though."   
  
"True." She slid over a little bit and snuggled down into his side, sighing happily. The knowledge that they had stuff to get done was nagging at her, but for a couple more minutes she just wanted to lie here with Doyle. _Then_ they'd deal.   
  
"I could get used to waking up like this."   
  
"Me, too. Only I'm not sure we'd ever get out of bed and get anything done."   
  
"We'd have to get up eventually." Doyle dropped a kiss on her shoulder.   
  
"Speaking of which..." She sighed again, heavily this time, and sat up. "We should probably get ourselves together and think about going in to the office. I feel kind of guilty leaving Wesley to deal with all of this by himself." Not that she hadn't needed the sleep, obviously, and it wasn't like Wesley couldn't get a handle on the researchy stuff without her.   
  
"Yeah." Doyle lost his smile as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.   
  
Cordelia grabbed her robe off the chair and slipped it on. "D'you want to use the shower?" she asked.   
  
He looked down at himself. "Guess I need to, huh?"   
  
"Guess we both do." She came over and kissed him firmly. "But I think we'd better take turns or there's no way we're going to get out of here before noon."   
  
"You may be right," he replied, a bit of his earlier good humor sparkling in his eyes, which quickly faded again. "And we've wasted enough time."   
  
She shook her head at him, frustrated. Sometimes she just wanted to give him a good smack, knock some sense into him. But then, he was so convinced that the world had it out for him that doing that would probably just prove his point. "Not nearly enough," she said. "We'll just have to make sure we waste some more, later. Go on. Clean towels are on the rack, and my shampoo is in there if you don't mind smelling kind of flowery."   
  
"I didn't mean--" He got up and moved to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Making love was definitely not a waste of time. I never would consider doing anything with you a waste of time. But... Angel..."   
  
"I know," she said gently. "But we needed the sleep, and Wesley would have called if he'd found anything important. Don't you go feeling all guilty about a couple of hours, okay?"   
  
"A couple of hours could be years where Angel is."   
  
Okay, so maybe she'd forgotten about that little detail. But they _still_ couldn't do anything until Wesley found out about the book. All the same, her heart did a funny twisting thing in her chest at the thought of Angel suffering somewhere, and she knew it showed on her face.   
  
Doyle's expression softened and he leaned in and kissed her. "We'll find him, Princess."   
  
"I know," she said again. She glanced down at him. "But not when we're naked. So go."   
  
That brought back Doyle's grin. "No water conservation with the showers this morning, huh?"   
  
"No. I'm gonna go see if there's anything to eat in this house while _you_ take a shower, and then, assuming I can find any coffee, _you_ are going to wrestle with the coffee machine while _I_ take a shower."   
  
"We could always grab something on the way to the office."   
  
"Are you actually trying to be practical, or are you just trying to get me into the shower with you?"   
  
Doyle blinked. "Both?"   
  
"Okay, then." She couldn't have stopped herself from smiling even if she'd wanted to. "I mean, it really _is_ important to save water, here in California. You could say it's our _duty_ to shower together."   
  
"Yeah." He grinned. "You wash my back, I'll wash yours."   
  
In the end it took them twenty minutes and every drop of hot water in the tank. Cordelia was shivering when they got out and had to put on a sweater over her blouse. "Next time," she said, her teeth chattering as she toweled her hair dry, "we need to be quicker. It doesn't say much for our argument about needing to shower together to save water if we're in there until we're all pruny." She held a hand out so that Doyle could see her wrinkled fingers.   
  
Doyle grinned and took her hand, dropping a kiss on her fingers. "Duly noted."   
  
"Do you still drink coffee? I mean..." She frowned, her brow furrowed. "Sorry."   
  
His smile faded, but didn't entirely disappear. "It's okay," he told her, reaching up and smoothing the lines on her forehead. "I still drink coffee. I... don't think they had coffee... where I was before. But if they had, I would've been drinking it."   
  
Cordelia tried to apologize again. "It's just... it's weird. I still can't believe..." She shook her head. "God. Broken record much? Okay, firm resolution _not_ to say that again. You're here, here is good, moving on."   
  
He kissed her, a brief reassuring touch of his lips against hers. "And moving on, right now, consists of heading to the office and stopping for coffee and doughnuts on the way."   
  
"Right. Just let me get my bag and my shoes and we're out of here."   
  


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Doyle entered the building and made his way to the office. Normal morning routine. 'Cept that Cordy was walking with him, holding his hand, and the little fact that he'd been in heaven yesterday.

He'd left normal a long time ago.

The first thing they saw when they went through the door was Wesley. Asleep, with his head on the desk, the earpiece of his glasses gripped between his fingers as though he were trying to protect them even in sleep. Cordelia let go of Doyle's hand and went over, put her hand on Wesley's shoulder gently.

"Wesley?"

He startled awake with a cry, hands scrabbling for a weapon.

She leapt backward, palms facing him. "It's just me, it's just me," she repeated quickly in a soothing voice. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to freak you out."

"Cordelia." Wesley's hands went automatically to his glasses, straightening them. He glanced over at the door where Doyle was still standing. "Doyle. Forgive me. I was just going to rest my eyes for a moment... I must've fallen asleep."

"It's okay," she said. "Were you up all night?"

"I think so. I was still working at 4:30. It all gets rather blurry after that."

"Coffee?" Doyle offered, stepping forward with the cardboard tray that held the cups. He felt even more guilty now; Wesley was here working while he and Cordy were... not.

Wesley stood up and took one of the cups with a grateful expression. "Thank you. I could use this about now." He looked at Cordelia and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Doyle got the distinct impression that she was trying not to blush. "Fine. I'm... fine."

Doyle bit his tongue as some perverse impulse urged him to answer that with something that was proprietary. Now wasn't the time.

Besides, he doubted that Cordy would appreciate it.

"Did you find anything?" she was asking Wesley.

Wesley brightened. "Actually..." He turned back to the pile of books on the table, pulling one out. "Is this what you saw?"

Cordelia took it from his hands and turned it over, looking at the cover carefully. "I think so." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and then nodded. "Yes. So how does this help us find Angel?"

"It's a book of portal spells and summonings. It's possible this is how Angel communicated with... whoever it was he communicated with."

"You mean he talked to that... dark thing, whatever it was... using this book?"

"Essentially."

"Great," Doyle said. "Do we know what spell?"

Wesley shook his head, but he didn't look too disturbed by this. "I've been able to narrow it down to a few, and I'm hoping that Cordelia might look at them, see if any of the descriptions sound familiar at all...?"

Taking the slip of paper Wesley handed her, Cordelia sat down and opened the book to the first page that he'd noted. "It's kind of hard to compare words on a page to a vision," she said absently as she read.

"Do we have pictures? Or descriptions of what they sound like?" Doyle asked, remembering the voice he'd heard when he first came back.

"There are some drawings," Wesley said. "Do you think you might recognize something, if you saw it?"

Doyle shrugged. "I didn't see anything -- just heard it. Princess?"

"I don't know." She turned a dozen or so pages and looked at the next spell Wesley had marked. ""It was in the shadows, it was all dark and... whispery, I guess." She closed her eyes again. "It was big, I think."

"Whispery is a good description," Doyle agreed. "Kind of an oily whispery."

"But I assume you couldn't understand what it was saying?" Wesley asked, looking at Doyle.

"No, I could. Every word." He paused. "Is that important?"

"It certainly could be," Wesley said, sounding exasperated. "What did you hear?"

Doyle frowned as he tried to remember the exact words. "I'm not sure I'm going to remember this exactly, I was pretty out of it -- having just been yanked out of heaven and all..." He frowned deeper and started reciting.

"'There. We have fulfilled our part of the bargain. The half-breed is returned. Now you must honour your end.' That was the first thing."

"I take it there was more?" Wesley was scribbling down the words that Doyle had just spoken, and he glanced up at him as though to urge him to continue.   
  
Doyle nodded. "Angel... was worried about me. And it told him, 'Coming back to life is not an easy thing. He will wake in time.' Angel was still worried," And Doyle paused for a second as he remembered the need for reassurance that had been in his friend's voice. "It told him, 'He may be... changed by the ordeal he has gone through, but he will recover. Time grows short. We must go.'"   
  
Wesley nodded, still writing. "And was that all?"   
  
"Yeah. Angel... said his goodbyes," his voice faltered as he remembered exactly what Angel had said and the tone of voice he'd said it in, "and then they were gone."   
  
"Interesting." Wesley finished copying down what Doyle had recited and then read over it carefully. "And I must say, that doesn't sound to me as if you had a difficult time recalling it."   
  
Doyle shrugged. "I guess you tend to remember what happens when you're coming back to life."   
  
"So it would seem."   
  
Cordelia had gotten up to read over Wesley's shoulder, abandoning the book on her chair. "What do you think _that_ means?" she asked, pointing to the words. "'He may be changed?'"   
  
"Yeah, that's a rather important thing to be asking," Doyle threw in. "Not that I feel any different... now at least. Was a little out of it for a while at the start."   
  
Wesley shrugged. "It's possible you wouldn't be able to tell for some time. In any case, it also said that you would recover, which would lead one to believe that any change would be temporary at worst." He turned to Cordelia and said, rather pointedly, "Did you find anything, then?"   
  
" _Okay,_ geez, going back to look." She picked the book back up and thumbed to the next page. "I don't know..." she said slowly. "These are all -- they all _look_ like something. The thing I saw, it was just a shadow."   
  
"The Powers wouldn't have sent a vision of this book if it wasn't important," Doyle said, moving so he could look over her shoulder at the book.   
  
"I didn't say I was giving up." Cordelia sounded frustrated. "I just... how the heck am I supposed to tell?"   
  
"Relax," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her body. "You can't force it."   
  
"Okay, yeah," she said as she turned some more pages. "There's gotta be something in here somewhere, right?" She paused for a moment as if she were trying to think. "It looked big," she said hesitantly. "And maybe... it looked a little... lumpy."   
  
"Lumpy?" Doyle echoed, trying to pull more from her.   
  
"Umm... well, yeah. Like, it didn't have any shoulders." She shook her head, wishing she'd seen it more clearly.   
  
"Could you see the color?"   
  
Cordelia closed her eyes again. "No, it was all dark." She sighed and flipped over another page in the book, then paused. "Maybe... kind of like this." She held the book toward Wesley.   
  
Wesley took it and frowned. "A ksh'yyk demon. It fits with what we know."   
  
"So cut to the chase, Wesley. Why would it want Angel?"   
  
"They're collectors. And gamblers. Very powerful; there's probably not much chance of facing one in a physical fight and winning."   
  
Cordelia snorted. "I said cut to the chase, not depress the hell out of us. Right, we can't kill them. We're sure as heck not gonna join them. What does that leave?"   
  
Doyle however, had latched onto one word of Wesley's description, one that was already suggesting a plan. "It leaves making them an offer they can't refuse. They're gamblers? Then we play the game -- double or nothing."   
  
Cordy turned to look up at Doyle, her eyes meeting his. "An offer they can't refuse," she repeated, and he realized that they were both echoing words they'd spoken the day before in the Oracle's chamber.   
  
She turned to Wesley. "How do we do it?"   
  
Wesley was frowning at them both. "The only thing that would be... high enough stakes to win Angel back would an equally rare soul."   
  
"Like what? I mean... who?"   
  
"Like me," Doyle said.   
  
Cordelia turned around again. He could see the emotion in her eyes, and it belied the bitterness in her tone when she spoke. "What makes you think you're so special? Just because they brought you back from the dead, now you're all super-valuable-guy?"   
  
"Cordelia..." Wesley said reprovingly.   
  
"I'm the 'promised one.'" Doyle felt a little silly saying that; he didn't feel like anything special but he knew the title gave him the standing he needed. "And yeah, being back from Heaven, and Powers' touched would add to my value."   
  
"'Promised one?' That and three bucks will get you a cappuccino. And Angel traded himself for you in the first place," Cordelia pointed out. "So why would they want to trade back? That doesn't make any sense." She paused for a long moment. "Unless... is that what double or nothing means? You... _we_... try to do something, and if it doesn't work out they get to keep both of you?"   
  
"It's the only way, Princess," Doyle said, reaching for her hands.   
  
"It's an _unfair_ way," she countered, and her fingers felt cold against his. "But we have to do something. I don't know why I would be surprised that the odds were stacked against us."   
  
"They're _always_ stacked against us." He squeezed her hands and tried to give her a reassuring smile. "We've got a good track record in beating them."   
  
"Um, Doyle? You _died._ So if that's supposed to make me feel better, it falls kind of flat."   
  
"Was kinda hoping you wouldn't bring that time up," Doyle joked weakly. There wasn't much else he could say to that; it was true, after all.   
  
"Like I was going to forget about it?" Cordelia turned back to Wesley. "Okay, Wes, here's your chance to make the big contribution. How do we find this thing?"   
  
Wesley, who had been watching them, started slightly and turned his attention back to the book. "There's a summoning spell here... it looks relatively easy to perform." He looked up again. "That isn't going to be the difficult part."   
  
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what does that mean?"   
  
"Once summoned, the ksh'yyk won't leave until a deal has been struck." Wesley looked soberly at first at Cordelia, then Doyle. "Are you sure you want to do this?"   
  
"We have to," Cordelia said, and it sounded like she was aware that this wasn't really an answer to his question.   
  
"We have to get Angel back," Doyle added quietly. "This is the only way."   
  
Wesley sighed. "All right. But before we do the summoning we better come up with exact wording of the deal -- we don't want to leave any loopholes for the ksh'yyk to be utilize."   
  
"Okay. What kind of deal are we talking about? I mean, you guys were both talking about gambling... I take it this is more complicated than cards or dice?"   
  
"You don't want to leave it up to something that has such an element of chance to it," Wesley advised seriously.   
  
"You mean we get to _pick?_ " She sounded surprised.   
  
"You make an offer. If it's interesting enough, the ksh'yyk will accept. That's the way to ensure the best odds for winning," Wesley explained.   
  
"So we make the best offer we can think of, that we might be able to pull off. I don't suppose they're interested in stuff like cheerleading abilities?" Cordelia glanced at Doyle with a hint of a smile.   
  
"Probably not the first thing on the list, no," Doyle replied, returning the smile, glad that she wasn't arguing with him on this.   
  
"What _would_ be? First on the list, I mean?"   
  
Doyle looked at Wesley. "Something...mythic?" he suggested.   
  
"Indeed," Wesley agreed, looking up from the page he'd been reading. "Journeys, quests, those sorts of things."   
  
Cordelia got up and walked over to the window, looked out, and then turned back to face them. "We say, 'Send us on a quest?'"   
  
"Something a little less open-ended," Wesley said, "but essentially yes."   
  
"'Send us on a quest to find Angel?'" she suggested.   
  
"To find Angel and get back out," Doyle admended. He paused and looked at her. "'Us?'"   
  
"You, me," Cordelia gestured between them. " _Us._ "   
  
He stared at her, recognizing the stubborn expression she was wearing. "I was planning on going alone," he said carefully.   
  
"That's because you're an idiot." She didn't look apologetic for saying so.   
  
"It's going to be dangerous. Cordy --"   
  
She jumped in before he could continue."And what do you think it's going to be if you _and_ Angel are both gone and it's just me and Wesley? This isn't a walk in the park, you know. I'm still going to have the visions, whether you guys are here to help or not. I _need_ you."   
  
Even amidst the seriousness of the conversation, those last three words made Doyle's heart beat faster. He realized that all Cordy would ever have to do to win an argument with him was to say that: 'I need you' and he'd cave immediately.   
  
Like he was about to.   
  
"I just wanted to keep you safe," he said softly, as he crossed over to where she was standing.   
  
"You can't do that. Not by leaving me here." Cordelia looked down at the floor, and then raised her eyes to meet his. "It's not that easy."   
  
"When is anything ever easy?" Doyle asked with a sigh.   
  
She looked more determined than ever. "We're going to do this," she said. "You and me."   
  
Doyle knew there was no point in arguing; he was never going to win. So he stepped closer, letting his hands slide around her waist, pulling her against him. "You and me," he agreed softly.   
  
Behind them, Wesley cleared his throat discreetly.   
  
"Right," said Cordelia, giving Doyle a look that he hoped he was interpreting correctly as 'later.' "So are we ready to do this thing? Do we need spell ingredients or a... crystal ball or anything?"   
  
"There are some ingredients I need to pick up," Wesley said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "And it has to be cast after dark. So we have a few hours yet."   
  
"What do we do until then?" She looked tense, like she wanted to do something then and there, not wait all day until night fell.   
  
"Rest, prepare." Wesley hesitated at the open door. "Go back to what you were just doing, perhaps? I'll be back in a few hours." Then he was gone.   
  
"Oh, god," Cordelia said, and buried her face in the curve between Doyle's neck and shoulder. "I guess any chance of keeping this low-profile for a while has been blown, huh?"   
  
Doyle slid his arms around her waist again. "Is that a problem?" he asked carefully.   
  
"No," she quickly reassured him, lifting her head. "Not a problem. I just... I don't know. I hadn't thought about it, I guess."   
  
"We haven't really had time to think, have we?" He knew time to think wasn't going to change his own feelings, but it was always possible that Cordy...   
  
But like she could read his mind, Cordelia was already putting her own arm aroundhis waist. "We don't need to think about this."   
  
"You sure?"   
  
"Yes. That's where the not-thinking comes in. Doesn't it..." she hesitated. "Doesn't it feel right to you?"   
  
"Nothing's ever felt more right to me in my life. Lives." Doyle laughed, the sound a bit brittle. "Either of them."   
  
She still looked uncertain. "Then why do you sound so..."   
  
He sighed and looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "Because I've never managed to keep anything that's felt good and right before," he admitted, the words hard to say.   
  
"This could be different." She paused and then went on. "It can be. Are you telling me that you think we can go on some quest to get Angel out of a hell dimension, but you don't think we can do this us-thing?"   
  
"Well, when you put it that way..." Doyle joked weakly.   
  
"You listen to me. I know what I'm talking about."   
  
He smiled, warmed by the determination he saw in her eyes. "I'd be an idiot to argue with you, wouldn't I?"   
  
"You're already an idiot either way." Cordelia's answering smile was warm and gentle, and he could tell that her insult was more automatic than heartfelt. "But you're never going to win an argument with me, so yeah. Don't even try."   
  
"Yeah, you'd like that. Me agreeing with everything you say."   
  
"Only on the important stuff... which would be pretty much everything." Her hand tightened in the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back. "What is this quest thing gonna be like, Doyle? I need to know what to expect."   
  
"Your guess is as good as mine, Princess," Doyle admitted, sliding one hand up to rub her back comfortingly. "It could be...anything. But it's probably going to be bad."   
  
"Bad how? Like, flaming arrows and drippy demons bad? Having to walk through a blizzard bad? Give me something here, _anything._ "   
  
"Could be flaming arrows, could be a blizzard. Could be... something we couldn't even imagine. I'm sorry, Cordy, I really don't know." He paused, meeting her eyes. "You don't have to go --"   
  
"Not arguing about this," she said warningly. She gave him a little squeeze and went after her coffee, which he imagined was probably cold by now. She drank some anyway and then crossed her arms and eyed him carefully. "You're going to need different shoes. Boots, maybe. Something more protective. And ditto some kind of coat. Assuming... I mean, we get to take our clothes with us, right?"   
  
He smiled, thinking of how distracted he'd be if there weren't any clothes. "We'll make it one of the conditions we stipulate."   
  
"Oh. Well, good. So anyway, let's go. If this is going to be my last chance to shop, maybe forever, I'm gonna enjoy it."   
  
"Shopping," Doyle repeated blankly.   
  
"Boots. And a leather coat. And anything else you can think of that might come in handy, because chances are good if it's not about lipstick or moisturizer, I'm not gonna come up with the idea all on my own. Come on, Doyle. Rack your brains here and help me."   
  
"You want to take me shopping."   
  
"No, I need to take you shopping. Those shoes are not going to hold up to anything challenging, and I don't think you're going to be much good to me if you end up barefoot." Cordelia stepped closer and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Doyle? Are you still in there?"   
  
"Yeah," he replied, feeling a smile stretch his face. "I'm just not used to..... Before you would've just told me what to get and sent me off."   
  
"Before I wouldn't have begged you to take off your clothes, either." Doyle thought he could detect a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Boots?" she asked, tentatively.   
  
"Boots," he replied, impulsively lifting her hand to his mouth and dropping a kiss in her palm.   
  
"Oh good," she said, and it was definitely a blush. "I know a couple of places we can try. It shouldn't take too long, since we're mostly going for practicality over style. Wow. I can't believe I just said that."   
  
"You've always said I had no style."   
  
"But that's easy to change. At least you're brave -- it's much harder to fix something like that."   
  
Doyle lowered his head and shrugged. "If I'm brave, it's only because I learned from watching you and Angel."   
  
"That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard. You were brave way before we came along -- you just didn't know it." Cordelia grabbed onto him with both hands and pulled him close. "Kiss me," she said, "and then we're off to experience the world of high fashion. Well... medium fashion for the low budget."   
  
Kissing Cordy was not a hard order to obey and Doyle leaned in, laying a hand against her cheek and kissing her long and lingeringly.   
  
"Okay, then," Cordelia finally said when the kiss had ended. "Let me take you shopping?"   
  
Doyle grinned at her. "You can take me anywhere."   
  
"Even to Hell," she said, and suddenly her voice and expression were both serious. "That's gotta be a real bummer after the whole Heaven thing, huh?"   
  
"I'm not planning on taking up residence there," he teased, then let the humor drop away when Cordy remained serious. "I...don't remember much about heaven. Just that it was..."   
  
"Maybe it's better that you don't remember."   
  
"Maybe you're right."   
  
"I'm sorry," she said, "that this happened. That you had to leave there." She lifted her chin and looked at him squarely. "But I'm not sorry you're back. If that makes me a terrible person, I can live with that."   
  
"I could never be sorry that I'm with you," Doyle told her, still utterly serious. "And heaven will still be there whenever..."   
  
"Whenever, a long, long time from now." Cordelia spoke with more certainty than he could remember hearing in her voice.   
  
"Yeah. When we're old and decrepit."   
  
She shoved him very lightly with the palm of her hand. "Hey! Speak for yourself. I, for one, am _never_ going to be old and decrepit."   
  
"Don't say that," Doyle ordered, sudden fear welling up inside him. "You are too going to be old and decrepit some day. Because that means you'll live a long, long time. And even at your oldest and your most decrepit, I'll still think you're beautiful."   
  
Her expression softened and it made her look even younger than she already did. Doyle thought that he could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I guess I can handle being old and decrepit, if I don't have to do it alone."   
  
"If I have anything to say about it, you won't be."   
  
She leaned in and kissed him, sweetly. "Boots," she said. "Jacket. If you're good, I'll even buy you lunch."   
  
"Yes, dear," Doyle quipped as he pulled away and headed for the door, taking his life into his hands.   
  


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The mall was close by, and Cordelia was intimately familiar with all of the stores in it, even the ones at which she'd never shop. Even the ones at which she couldn't afford to shop. She had a credit card, though, one that she kept for emergencies -- _real_ emergencies -- and it had a zero balance. But not for long.

She was determined to enjoy herself, since for all she knew this could be her last shopping trip ever. She wasn't going to worry about what they spent and she was going to have fun. And so was Doyle. Whether he liked it or not.

"Here," she said, gesturing into a store that carried mostly leather and suede. "A jacket first, I guess."

"Can we afford this?" Doyle asked as he followed her in. "By we I mean you, because I have no resources right now, having been dead and all."

"The magic of plastic." Cordelia grinned. She'd worry about her credit if... _when_ they got back. If they didn't get back, it wouldn't matter. "We can afford pretty much whatever we want, within reason." She started to look among the racks for a leather jacket that matched the picture of the one she had in her head -- longer than waist length but shorter than three-quarter. Not too low in the collar. She eyed Doyle thoughtfully. Maybe a chocolate brown? Or a dark wine?

Doyle had wandered a few steps away and was looking at some jackets on the discount rack -- some that looked remarkably like the old tacky one he'd had before.

Oh, god. Well, either his taste in clothes hadn't changed or he was worried about spending her money. She decided to assume the latter.

She lifted up a dark brown one and looked at it, then asked, "What do you think?"

Doyle looked at it, his expression dubious. "It's..."

"You don't like it?"

"It's not that," he said quickly.

She looked back at the rack. "You don't like the color? There's a lighter brown, and gray, but I don't think those are good colors for you. And black, but, you know, I kind of figured that was Angel's color and you'd rather have something different."

"It's expensive."

"Who cares?" She waved her hand to demonstrate that _she_ didn't. "We'll worry about it if... um, _when_ we get back."

"You sure?" Doyle reached out to touch the coat's sleeve.

Cordelia smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. Come on, try it on. Leather's very important historically, you know. They used to make armor out of leather, back before they got smart enough to realize that, hey, _metal_ might actually work better if you were trying to keep swords from sticking through your body." She slid the jacket off the hanger and offered it to him.

Doyle looked at her bemusedly as he took the jacket from her.

"Don't look at me like that," she said warningly. "Remember what I said about only getting lunch if you're good?"

"I just never pictured you giving me a lecture on the history of armor."

"I was actually talking about the history of _leather._ Two completely different things." She looked at him critically as he shrugged into the jacket. "It's good," she decided. "I like it. Here, see?" She moved him over so that he could look at himself in the mirror that was up against the wall.

Doyle looked at his reflection, shaking his head and looking down at the jacket."Not sure I recognize myself."

Cordelia leaned around him so that she could study his reflection at the same time he did. "Is that bad? I mean -- is it not you, in a bad way?"

"No, not in a bad way." He glanced over at her, lips curving up into the ghost of smile. "I almost look respectable."

"Oh, no, anything but that!" she said in mock horror. She wondered how long it had been -- not including the deadness -- since he'd felt worthy of respect. Sure, he'd done stupid things and gotten into trouble and become practically an alcoholic (and she wondered if that had been magically cured during his stint in heaven,) but underneath it all he was, at heart, a good guy.

"As I said, no one will recognize me." He looked at her again, this time with a smile that was much wider than the last.

Cordelia grinned back at him and then, unable to stop herself and unwilling to try, grabbed onto the collar of the new jacket with both hands and kissed him. She moved back and, with their noses practically touching, looked into his eyes. "I recognize you," she said, in complete seriousness. "I'd recognize you anywhere."

She watched as his eyes softened and thought she might have caught a glimpse of his vulnerable soul before he was kissing her again.

The thought that they didn't have enough time, not nearly enough, swept over her, and she held onto Doyle more tightly, returning the kiss for all she was worth. She focused on the feeling of his lips against hers, the way his breath was warm. There was no way she was letting him go.

"Ahem." Someone was very pointedly clearing their throat.

Cordelia pulled back without releasing her hold and saw a woman with a tag on her blouse eyeing them with what might have been disapproval. Oops. "Hi," she said brightly. "Um... we'll take it."

"Just giving it a test drive," Doyle put in, a twinkle of evil mischief in his eyes.

They followed the woman to the cash register and Cordelia handed over her credit card. "Boots next," she said to Doyle, fingering the collar of the jacket as the woman rang up the sale.

"Whatever you want, Princess," Doyle replied with an obliging smile. He reached up and took her hand at his collar into his own.

She took her card and the slip back with her other hand so she didn't have to let go of him, and stuck them both into her pocket. "Thanks," she said absently to the saleslady without really looking in her direction, and still holding onto Doyle's hand led him out of the store and back into the mall.

"Y'know, if I'd known that shopping was going to be like this, I would've let you take me a long time ago."

She wanted to push him up against the nearest wall and kiss him until she forgot everything else. But no, she had to concentrate because this stuff was important. Boots. Important. She hoped she wasn't being noticeably flaky.

Oh, thank god. "Here," she said, tugging on his hand and pointing to the shoe store. "Boots."

He grinned at her. "You going to pick those out for me too, Princess?"

"If the only other option is to let you choose, then the answer would be a great big 'Yes.'" She pointed to the nearest bench. "Sit."

Cordelia faced the wall of shoes and tried to focus on the men's boots. Something sturdy, low or no heel, thick leather. She chose two reasonable options and pulled them down, holding them in front of him. "What do you think? Either of these?"

Doyle looked back and forth between one and the other. "Either?"

"Meaning 'Pick one?' Why don't you just try them both on, and then if you don't like them we can find some more? I was just thinking practical, you know, something that would protect your feet."

"Which ones do you like the best?"

"Well... these go better with the jacket -- the jacket's screaming for low-heel rather than no-heel, and the color's closer, but -- geez, Doyle, it doesn't matter! I can't believe I'm saying this, but believe or not this isn't a fashion contest. Do you _want_ me to pick?" She wasn't really frustrated, but on the other hand it would be nice if he expressed a preference.

"I really am lousy at this shopping thing," Doyle admitted. "I just grab the first thing I see that's the right price." He gave her a sweet smile. "I yield myself to the tender mercies of my better in this endeavor."

"You still have to try them on. What size?"

"Ten."

They managed to get the pair of boots that Cordelia deemed a match with the jacket in Doyle's size and pay for them without a repeat of the kissing scene from the leather store, much to her combined satisfaction and disappointment. They left the shoe store with Doyle wearing the new boots.

"I didn't even think that you're not going to have a lot of time to wear them in," Cordelia worried. "What if you end up with a million blisters?"

"If I have time to worry about blisters, I'd say we were doing good."

"Oh. Yeah, right." It hadn't even occurred to her that they might be killed before they'd barely started, but she supposed that was a possibility. Okay, focus on the present. "I think we should do the food thing," she said firmly. "Who knows when we might get a decent meal again?"

"Whatever you want to do. I am at your service, Princess," Doyle said extravagantly, with a little bow.

"Geez, would you stop it with that?" She gave him a little shove on the arm. "It's not all about what _I_ want, you know." Oh my God, had she really just _said_ that?

Doyle grinned, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "Do you want _me_?" he asked.

She didn't know why her gift of directness seemed to head for the hills when she was around Doyle, unless it was because her feelings for him were even more powerful than she was ready to admit. She dropped her eyes down to his chest and let her fingers play with edge of his new jacket, and then nodded. "Yeah," she said slowly. "I do."

She felt Doyle's lips against her own for a very brief second. "Then I'm fine with it being about what you want."

"Well, what I want right now is to buy you lunch," Cordelia said. "So stop distracting me from my mission and help me figure out where we should eat. Mexican? Italian?"

"French?" Doyle suggested, kissing her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth for a second. He grinned again when he pulled back. "Mexican's fine."

"Okay, then."

Once they were seated in the tackily-themed mall restaurant that was trying to pass for some movie version of a Mexican village (and succeeding) and had ordered their food, Cordelia decided it was time to try to drag some more information out of Doyle.

"So. You said we can make it a stipulation that we can bring our clothes, on this quest-y thing. What about weapons?"

"That's probably going to be an area of negotiation," Doyle said, taking a drink of the beer he had ordered with obvious relish. "I'm sure we'll be able to get some, but not as many as we would like."

"What about a gun?" Not that she'd have any idea how to go about getting one.

He looked at her. "Do you know how to use one?"

"How hard can it be? Point and pull the trigger, right?" She mimed the action with her hand.

Doyle winced. "There's a bit more to it than that. Aiming and so forth. Maybe we should stick to what we're familiar with."

"What we're familiar with," Cordelia reminded him, "are weapons that mean you need to get all up close and personal with the bad guys. I don't know why we can't use something that lets you kill them from far away for once." She sighed. "I don't know where we'd get a gun, anyway."

"We have crossbows," Doyle pointed out. "And they're less likely to malfunction or have us make a mistake with them because we'll know what we're doing." He smiled ruefully at her. "Sorry, Princess. Dirty Harry I'm not."

"Thank God. Have you seen that Clint Eastwood's face? He obviously should have avoided spending so much time in the sun during his formative years. Or at least invested in some sunblock." She gave a little shudder and then refocused. "Right. Crossbows. Still not as convenient as standing hundreds of yards away and blowing things into little pieces with a machine gun, but I guess they'll have to do."

"Machine guns?" Doyle raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I should call you Dirty Harry."

"Or a bazooka," she said. "Man, have you seen the kind of damage those things can do?"

"Have you?"

"Uh-huh. This one time, in high school? Buffy used a bazooka to blow up the Judge, who was this big icky demony kind of guy who was cut up into pieces and then put back together. _Before_ she blew him up, I mean." Cordelia hesitated. "On second thought, maybe that was a rocket launcher. Those are different, right? Well, anyway, the conclusion of my story -- big guns make the bad guys really dead, and really dead is a good thing."

"I think you're scaring me." Belying his words, he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

She was unsure how to approach the next topic -- subtlety was definitely not her strong suit, but she had to keep her motives hidden if she could. Letting her fingers make little stroking gestures across his hand, she jumped in. "And what about this making the deal thing? I mean, the stakes being you? How do we word that?"

Doyle sighed and took another drink of his beer. "I've been thinking about it. It's got to be perfectly worded -- tempting enough to get the ksh'yyk to agree, but tightly put together enough that it can't pull a fast one."

"Okay," she nodded. "You mean if you don't say stuff exactly right it can take advantage of your stupidity. Like, you say 'make me a carrot' and you get turned into a carrot instead of _getting_ a carrot."

"Yeah, exactly."

"Maybe we should write it down on a piece of paper. Not necessarily right now, but before. Wesley can check it over too, make sure it's balanced." She looked at him hopefully, thinking that seeing it written out would help her make sense of the thing.

"Good idea. We can work on that this afternoon."

"Uh-huh." Cordelia knew that there was no point in doing it if she didn't get it right. "So, back to stuff we're allowed to take with us. Any ideas? Can we fill our pockets and hope the demon guy doesn't notice, or would that be cheating?"

Doyle grinned. "I've nothing against cheating when playing for these stakes. Just as long as we don't get caught."

Cordelia paused as the waitress, who was pretty enough not to be doing this job, delivered their plates of food. God, L.A. was full of unemployed actors. At least she wasn't the only one. "Then I'm wearing my jacket with all the pockets," she said as soon as they were alone again. "It's Michael-Jackson-Thriller out of style, so I won't even care if it gets wrecked."

"Michael Jackson?" Doyle repeated, a delightful gleam of humor in his eyes.

"Hey, I didn't buy it!" Cordelia was horrified at the notion. "This girl I went out with one night left it at my apartment, and I didn't want to throw it away. You _never_ know when something's going to come back into style. Free clothes are free clothes. Assuming, you know, they're not crawling with bugs or anything." She frowned thoughtfully. "And you know, it's really disturbing that every time I _think_ of something weird it all ties right back in to Sunnydale."

"Spose living on a Hellmouth will do that to you."

"I guess so." She picked up her fork and poked at the rice on her plate, rice that could only loosely be referred to as Mexican, and only because it looked like it had been cooked in tomato soup. Pink rice was just... wrong. She really wasn't that hungry all of a sudden. Thinking about Sunnydale was guaranteed to ruin her appetite. "I can probably fit half a first aid kit in those pockets, anyway."

"We'll need to take some blood," Doyle said. "For when we find him."

Okay, definitely not hungry now. "Right. Maybe we can figure out a way to sew some packets into the linings or something. Of course that would require knowing how to sew." She looked at Doyle, trying to hide her nervousness. "What if something happens and the blood gets... lost, or spilled, or whatever?"

Lips pressed tightly together Doyle met her eyes, the answer he didn't see clear in their depths. "We better make sure that doesn't happen."

"We could always... if we had to..." Cordelia refused to make the gesture across her arm that would speak the words she wasn't saying. She didn't know if she wanted Doyle to agree with her.

"It's not going to come to that," Doyle insisted.

"But if we _had_ to..."

"We won't."

She sighed. Apparently the whole thing about her never losing an argument had been a waste of breath. "You're really being stubborn," she said finally.

"Yeah, I am," Doyle agreed.

"I'll let you get away with it for now, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That after lunch we go back to my apartment and you let me have my way with you." She grinned. "And _then_ you stop being stubborn and actually talk about the blood thing."

"I'm sorry, I lost track of the sentence after have your way with me." He squeezed the hand he still had a hold of. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the afternoon."

"Which would require eating," she said pointedly, looking at his plate. "I shouldn't have to say again that this might be the last good meal you see in a while, and I shouldn't have to mention that it's also the first. Canned soup and donuts notwithstanding."

Doyle smiled as he picked up his fork and began eating. "You're fussing."

"I do not, under _any_ circumstances, fuss," said Cordelia, giving him a dirty look.

"You are, you're fussing." Doyle's smile widened, though he glanced down, suddenly turning shy. "No one's fussed over me for a long time."

"Oh." She hadn't realized that he meant it in a good way, sort of. "Well." This would be one of those times when it would be convenient to have more practice in saying things that were nice. "You obviously need someone fussing over you." Mm-hmm, see? Good job. Make him feel like an incompetent six year old.

Doyle glanced back up at her, teasing smile still in place, but his eyes were serious. "You volunteering for the job?"

"I guess I am," she answered before she even had a chance to think about it. Apparently her brain worked faster than she'd realized. "I'll fuss over you if you'll promise not to fuss over me."

"Maybe just a little fussing?" Doyle negotiated. "When you really need it?"

Cordelia shook her head. "No, fussing over me just encourages me to be all whiney." She thought about how crappy she always felt after a vision, remembered how nice it had been to be held in the aftermath of yesterday's, and capitulated. "Well, only if I _really_ need it."

"Deal." Doyle grinned. "As long as I get to decide when you really need it."

" _Really_ stubborn. How come I didn't remember that about you?"

"I don't know." Now he looked curious. "What did you remember about me?"

"Well..." Cordelia thought back for a minute. "Um... you drive like a maniac, seeing blood doesn't bother you, you like to start fights in bars... oh, and there was that whole quoting-Angela's-Ashes when you're drunk thing. And you had a lot of connections, and some them tried to kill you and others were really good at finding nice apartments."

"Nothing about my quick wit or stunning good looks?" Doyle teased.

"Not so much, no," she answered, seriously. "But I did remember that you were brave. I didn't forget that."

Doyle dropped his gaze, though he gave a quick shy smile. "And what about now? What do you think of me now?" he asked, lightly rubbing his thumb along her wrist of the hand he was holding.

"I think..." She paused, watching their hands together. "I think, maybe I can. Maybe I do." At his look of confusion, she explained slowly, "You remember the last thing you said to me, before you died?"

Doyle frowned briefly, then nodded, watching her face carefully. "I do."

"The demon thing, it doesn't matter. I mean, it does, it's part of you, part of who you are. But it doesn't change..." Cordelia looked at him for a long time, her fingers clutching his tightly. "I do. I love you."

Doyle stared at her, searching her face intently and his hand tightened its grip on hers. "Are you -- Do you really mean that? It's not just that I'm back from...?"

"Yeah, because I'm real sympathetic that way, right? Soft-hearted Cordy?" She didn't let her eyes stray from his, trying to let him see how serious she was, trying not to give him any reason to doubt. "I don't do stuff like that. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

She could pinpoint the exact second he let himself believe; she saw his eyes light up in a way she'd never seen before, but certainly hoped to see more of in the future. Then he was leaning over the table and kissing her in a way that took her breath away.

Doyle's lips were warm and he tasted a little bit spicy and she didn't want that moment to end, ever. After a minute or so she started to run out of air and had to pull back. "You didn't, um, really _want_ lunch, did you?" she asked, rather breathlessly.

"I want _you_ for lunch," he replied with a look that made her toes curl.

"Right," she said. "We're so out of here."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They were barely inside the apartment when Doyle found his arms full of a very warm and friendly Cordelia.

She must have shoved the door closed with her foot because the next thing he knew she was pushing him up against it and she was kissing him fervently, her hands sliding underneath the leather jacket to grab onto his shirt and pull him closer.

A little surprised at her aggressiveness, he nonetheless wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her back just as passionately.   
It may have been a surprise, but it was a very pleasing one.

"I wanted to do this at the mall," Cordelia said in a low voice, busy pulling his shirt up in the back so that she could slide her hands underneath and over his bare skin. "But I had to worry about being all practical. We can forget about that for now, can't we? Just for a little while?"

"Have to tell you, Princess," he said in between nipping kisses all over her face and neck, "when you're this close I can't even remember what the word practical means."

"Just make me forget." She took his face between her hands and kissed him thoroughly, pressing against him. She sounded more than a bit desperate. "Please? Just for a little while?"

"I'll do anything you want me to do, love," Doyle murmured, hugging her tight. Then with a sudden burst of speed and strength he reversed their positions, pressing Cordelia up against the door, holding her there with his body. "I'll make you forget everything but what I'm doing to you," he told her, sliding his hands under her top and over the warm skin of her abdomen, up to caress her breasts through her bra.

Cordelia moved her hips forward into his, little sounds of pleasure spilling from her as he touched her. She kissed Doyle and then caught his lower lip between her teeth, biting gently. Released him long enough to say, "I want you so much."

Doyle groaned, both at her words and her moving against him. "You got me," he told her, pulling her shirt up over her head and dropping it to the floor.

Her hands were shoving his jacket off of his shoulders, and he let it fall onto the floor, as well. She took advantage of his moving slightly away to slide her hand between them and rub it against his erection before her mouth was back on his, her tongue tracing delicately over his lip in the spot she'd bitten before.

He wanted to take his time with her, linger over ever inch of skin, worship her the way she deserved, but he didn't have the patience. Not right then, with Cordy pressed against him, her bare skin under his hands and his lips.

"Call me that again," she said, and moved her lips along his jawline to his ear.

He shivered at the feel of her. "Love," he repeated obediently, his fingers fumbling to undo and remove her bra.

Cordelia moaned softly as he freed her breasts and slid his hands over them, and Doyle felt her press her hips forward into him again. She nipped at the curve between his neck and shoulder, gently, not abandoning the slow thrusting that he thought might drive him out of his mind.

"Love," he murmured again, pushing himself against her, frustrated by the layers of cloth between them. "Have to have you," he panted against her mouth as he kissed her desperately, moving to push her pants down off her hips.

"Wait," she gasped, and slid her hand into the pocket of her khakis, drawing out a condom. "We need this." She shoved her pants down further, kicking them and her shoes off while at the same time fumbling at his waistband.

Doyle pulled back enough to look at her. "You've been carrying condoms in your pocket?" he asked, starting to grin.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared," Cordelia said, finally managing to unfasten his pants. "Anyway, after last night..."

He caught his breath as her fingers brushed against his erection. "Probably glad I didn't know," he told her, sliding a hand between her legs as he bent his head to nip and nuzzle at her neck. "Might've got some wicked idea about what we could do in a change room."

"Oh," she said as his fingertips found her slick and ready. "I would've. If you'd wanted to."

"Really?" He slid two fingers inside her and brushed his thumb over her clit. "You would've let me push you up against a wall in front of what may be a two way mirror -- or with a security camera watching us -- and do this to you?"

She moaned against his neck, her breath hot as she exhaled. "Yes," she hissed. "If you were going to do this. Oh God..."

"Even if you knew we were being watched? Would you let me strip and take you when you knew there's others seeing it?" He could hear the huskiness growing in his own voice as he became more aroused at the picture he was painting for her. He kept lightly caressing her, slowly fingerfucking her at the same time.

He'd obviously reduced her to incoherency, because all she seemed able to do was rock against his hand and beg, "Please... Oh, God, Doyle..."

He was getting to the point where need was out-pacing thought as well; he _needed_ to be in her. He kissed her passionately, then slowing his fingers, asked, "Can you get me ready?"

She was still clutching the condom, its wrapper more than slightly bent and crumpled at this point, but Cordelia managed to get it open and unroll it onto him despite the way her breath caught in her throat whenever he moved his hand.

His own breath was uneven as well, what with her warm fingers skimming down his length as she put the condom on him. He kissed her until they were both breathless, then moved to grab her around the waist, bracing her and finally sliding all the way into her.

Cordy clutched at his shoulders and then kissed him frantically, her tongue darting in to meet his as he shifted and pulled back and slid in again. "Please," she said. "Oh God, yes, just like that..."

The feel of her surrounding him, of being in her, was better than heaven. He was on the edge far too quickly and had to still to give himself a chance to get control back. "Too good, love," he gasped, leaning forward and resting his head against the wall beside hers.

"No," Cordelia panted in response. "There's... no such... thing as... too good." But she kissed him more slowly now, taking her time about it as if she were trying to give him what he needed.

For some reason that made this seem all the more real, being here with Cordy and Cordy loving him, wanting him... It threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He kissed her desperately, lingeringly. "I love you," he blurted.

"I know." Her voice was gentle, and when he looked at her face her expression was one of such tenderness that he thought it might break him. "I love you, too."

Doyle couldn't speak, didn't know if he'd be able to find the words even if he could. So he kissed her and started moving again gently, trying to put everything he felt into it.

She responded to his every movement eagerly, welcoming and encouraging him, her fingers gripping onto him tightly. "Show me everything," she said, her voice quiet but determined, and he thought he could hear the passion she was trying to rein in. "You won't break me, Doyle. Don't hold back."

He took her at her word, letting go of his control, lifting her up and pushing into her hard and fast. He kissed her again and again, then let his mouth slide down and nibbled on her collarbone, then even lower, dropping kisses on her breasts.

Cordelia moaned softly and made small circles with her hips. "God, you're so good to me... yes, like that... "

"You're good to me," Doyle countered, murmuring the words against her breast before taking a nipple into his mouth. All the while he kept thrusting into her, wanting, needing to be as far inside her as he could get.

"Oh, just like... that's... right there, God... " She squirmed against him, rocked into him, shifted and squirmed again. "I'm... Doyle, I'm -- " and then she was shuddering, crying out, and he could feel her fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

He held still, holding onto her as she rode out her orgasm, watching her face transform with her pleasure.

"I love you," she breathed, and used one hand to tilt his face up enough so that she could kiss him, the movement causing another shift of her hips that made him gasp.

Any remnant of control that Doyle had left at that point dissolved and he began once again thrusting, desperately chasing his own climax.

Cordy seemed to sense his urgency and encouraged him with her lips, kissing him fervently, flicking her tongue in to meet his like an offering. She slid a hand down to his backside, coaxing him to move faster, harder, as if telling him to take what he needed. "Don't hold back," she whispered again.

The words were enough to push him over the edge and he came with a yell, feeling his face shift to his demon form without his intending it.

Cordelia's head was thrown back against the wall, her eyes closed, when he changed. She opened her eyes and Doyle thought he saw something flash across her face, something he couldn't quite identify. And then it was gone and she leaned forward and, very carefully, kissed him as he came to a quivering halt, his hips still rocking against her involuntarily.

That she would do that, with his face looking the way it did, took his breath away and left him without words. No one had ever...

"Hey," she said softly, and then touched his lower lip with one finger, cautiously avoiding his spikes. "That's still you in there, right?"

He nodded, still unable to find his voice.

"Are you okay? Say something -- you're freaking me out."

Doyle laughed, the sound harsh with a touch of hysteria in it. "But I'm not."

"Not...?" Cordelia looked confused. "You're not okay?"

He shook his head. "I'm not freaking you out. With my... with this face."

"No. You had it right the first time -- _your_ face. It's still you in there. That's all I care about. This..." and she traced the soft skin just under his eye, as if she weren't sure what would happen if she touched a spike, "I mean, it might take a little getting used to, but it's still you."

He closed his eyes at her touch, his skin more sensitive in this form. "You really mean that, don't you? This doesn't bother you?"

"As long as you're not feeling a sudden desire to rip my throat out and bathe in my blood or something similarly violent and gruesome, then no... it doesn't bother me." Her eyes searched his when he opened them again. "It's who you are."

He sighed, feeling a shiver go through his entire body at that. "I spent a long time trying to deny it."

"Well, that stops right here, Mister," Cordelia said, with a serious expression but a touch of humor in her voice. "Okay? Because I need _all_ of you with me, not just part of you. And speaking of parts..." She glanced down to where their bodies were still joined. "We, um, might be more comfortable if we went and lay down for a little while?"

Doyle chuckled weakly. "Right." Regretfully he pulled out, missing the feel of being inside her already.

She bent and picked her shirt up off the floor, held it in front of herself as if she'd suddenly gotten shy. She reached for his hand and then pulled back. Reached out again to run her hand over his skin, from his collarbone to his chest and then down to his abdomen. "It's really not that different," she said.

"Not that different?" Doyle repeated, pausing in the act of heeling off his boots.

"Sorry." Cordelia snatched her hand back like she hadn't quite realized what she was doing. "I meant your skin... it's just a different color, really. Otherwise it's the same."

"You really think so?" he asked, feeling a little shy himself.

"Yeah." She reached out and touched him again, letting her fingertips trace over one of his ribs. "Does it feel different on the inside?"

Doyle shivered at the light touch. "Yeah. Everything's more... intense."

Cordelia shivered visibly as well, and glanced down at the floor. "I'm just going to..." she gestured toward the bedroom while backing up a couple of steps, "Um, get something to put on." She paused. "Are you coming?"

"I'll follow you anywhere," he said with a grin, starting to feel a bit less overwhelmed.

She disappeared around the corner into the bedroom, leaving him with a charming view of her backside, and by the time he'd caught up she was wrapped in a robe and straightening the sheets on the bed. "Cold," she explained, and curled up near the pillows.

"Can't have that," he replied, moving to slide up behind her on the bed. He hesitated before coming into contact, suddenly uncertain. "Do you want me to change back?"

"If I say 'yes' will you get all reject-y and weird?" Cordelia looked back at him. "Because I'm kind of more used to you the other way. It doesn't mean I don't like you this way, just - "

Shaking off the demon face immediately, he pulled her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss. "It's okay," he told her. "I don't much like that face either."

"I didn't _say_ I don't like it," she pointed out. "Just that I'm used to this one." She stroked his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers, watching him. "What's it like?" she asked finally.

"Being a demon?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I guess. I meant, more like, to change back and forth. Does it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt." He thought about how it felt, tried to find the words to describe it. "It's like....an itch. Or a muscle twitch that you can't quite control."

She leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. "And once you're there? Is it different? I mean, do you feel different? I know you're stronger..."

He shrugged. "I don't know about different... Everything is brighter, louder, just more _there_."

"Oh. Sounds like a recipe for a great big headache." She snuggled in closer and then winced. "Speaking of which..."

"You have a headache, Princess?" Doyle asked, gently sliding a hand up the side of her face to rest against her temples. And trying to ignore the sudden stab of guilt of the probable cause of any of Cordelia's headaches.

"I'm okay," she said quickly. "It's not bad. Just... well, you know. Dennis? Could you get the - " She didn't need to finish her sentence before the bedroom light switched off. It was still sunny outside, but the curtains were closed and the room was suddenly much dimmer.

Doyle frowned even as he pulled her closer, then brought both hands up to gently rub her temples. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay." Cordelia sighed. "Can you see the clock from there? Wesley said... well, we have until dark, right? Because we still have to figure out what we're going to take with us, and figure out _how_ we're going to take it all with us, and I think Wes can get the blood but I need to call him and make sure, and..."

Taking the most direct route to stop the flow of increasingly panicked words, Doyle kissed her lingeringly.

"Okay," she said, when he'd finally released her. "You could just tell me to shut up, you know. Not that that wasn't much, much nicer."

"Much more effective, too," he said with a smile, tracing her lower lip with a light finger.

"Good point. I'm not so much with the shutting up, really." She looked at him thoughtfully. "We do need to deal with all of this. It's not like we can put it off."

"We can for a little bit. It's early yet."

Cordy lay her head back down against him. "I'm afraid if I get comfortable I'll go to sleep, and then I won't wake up in time to do everything."

"You've got a ghost for an alarm clock," Doyle pointed out.

"He's annoyed with me. Or you. Or maybe both of us."

The blankets at the foot of the bed rose up to cover their legs, settling gently at Cordelia's waist.

"Doesn't seem annoyed to me," Doyle observed, sending a silent thank you to the ghost.

"Mm. Maybe not." She put her hand over her mouth as she yawned. "Sorry."

"S'all right." He hugged her tighter and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"I just realized," Cordelia said, "that this might be the last bed we sleep in for a while, too. Maybe ever. It wouldn't be too lame to want to catch an hour or so of shut-eye, would it? If we asked Dennis to wake us up at the right time?"

Doyle smiled and kissed her again. "Not lame at all. Been trying to suggest that here for the last few minutes, love."

"Oh. Go, me. Oblivious much?" She shifted back onto the pillows a little bit more and pulled her robe tighter at the throat, then put a hand on Doyle's arm. "Just a little while," she said warningly, but she sounded like she was already starting to fall asleep.

"Just a little while," he agreed, shifting to curl up around her as much as he could.

After a minute he could hear her breathing even out, becoming slower and more regular. A minute after that her hand slipped an inch or so on his arm, but it was clear that she was too asleep to notice.

Doyle lay there watching her, soaking up the peace and the perfection of the moment.

He had the feeling he'd need all such memories in the near future.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Cordelia woke up to the sound of someone repeating her name softly and smoothing a hand over her hair. "Doyle?" she asked, without opening her eyes.

"You were expecting someone else?" the warm irish brogue teased.

She was so comfortable, and his hand felt so nice on her hair, that she couldn't summon up the urge to move. "Please tell me we didn't oversleep."

"We didn't."

"Good." She opened her eyes to discover that his were only inches away. Her brain felt all foggy, like it was working at half speed. "Hi."

He smiled and kissed her. "Hi."

Wrapping her arm around his waist, Cordelia leaned in for another kiss. "Mmm," she said. "I'm not really awake yet."

"So I see." One of his hands slid down her body in a light caress. "Should I see what I can do to help wake you up?"

"Hmm?" she asked, but moved her own hand down to loosen the belt of her robe. Eyes closed, she pulled the edge of the robe back to partially expose one breast. "Oh, sorry. Were you saying something about waking me up?"

Doyle grinned and lowered his head to seek out the nipple of the offered breast.

She hissed with pleasure as his lips found her; his mouth was so warm and wet and it felt amazingly good. Painfully, achingly, desperately good. Cordelia let her fingers trace their way up Doyle's spine and then gripped onto his shoulder tightly, rocking her hips against him.

His tongue flickered over the peak of her breast, teasingly light touches that were sending little bursts of electricity down to her core. At the same time Doyle slipped a hand between her legs, fingers brushing against where she was most sensitive.

"Doyle," she begged, wondering how he'd figured out exactly how to touch her to make her crazy. "Please..."

Doyle lifted his head and grinned at her. "Awake yet?" he asked as two fingers slid inside her.

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to say yes or no. "Oh, God. More," she said instead, squirming.

Chuckling, Doyle slid down her body, trailing kisses over her skin as he moved, stopping and pressing nips and licks against her inner thighs.

Cordelia made a little high-pitched noise of need in the back of her throat. He was teasing her and it was driving her crazy, and at the same time she just wanted him to keep doing it because it was so good. His tongue moved an inch higher and she moaned softly. "Yes... please..."

Doyle finally moved his head and his tongue brushed once, teasingly over her clit.

"Oh!" Her hips rose involuntarily, her body begging for his attention. She thought she would do anything to have him lick her there again. Her thigh muscles trembled as she waited.

He did it again, then moved his tongue back to flutter over the edges of her opening before pushing inside.

Digging her fingernails into her palms, Cordelia tried to control herself, but the rest of her body seemed to have other ideas. Her hips rose to meet him; her thigh muscles no longer trembled but instead tightened almost painfully as she sought release. "Please... Doyle..."

Doyle replaced his tongue with two fingers, giving her something to clench around as he licked at her clit again.

She was unbearably close; she could feel her feet arching with the tension of her impending orgasm, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more. "God... I need you... I can't wait, please..."

He added a third finger, pressing against her inner walls, searching until he hit a spot that sent an added bolt of pleasure through her system.

Cordy groaned softly, and then Doyle's tongue returned to the exact spot where she needed it, teasing gently but firmly. She cried out, felt herself tighten around his fingers as exquisite waves rolled through her, closing her eyes and focusing on the sensations while time seemed to stop for a brief instant. She was gasping for breath.

Aftershocks were still going through her when Doyle replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing into her in one long, slow thrust.

"Oh," was all she could manage to say, but she wrapped her legs up around his waist and tilted her hips, encouraging him to move. She didn't think it was possible that each time could be better than the last, but this was so perfect that it took her breath away.

Doyle moved into her in a hard and fast rhythm, looking down into her face, his own full of love and wonder.

She couldn't look away from his eyes. It was like she was seeing right into his soul, and as he thrust into her she reached up and touched his lower lip gently with her forefinger. "I love you," she said.

Doyle's eyes widened just a fraction, a full body shiver going through him before he froze entirely; Cordy felt the climax run through his body.

He shuddered for long moments, groaned, and fell forward onto her, and she thought that it was a good thing that he wasn't any heavier. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down to the small of his back, stroking his skin gently. She knew they had to get up and get it together, but she wished they could just stay where they were forever.

After a long moment, Doyle finally stirred, raising his head and seeking out her lips for a lazy kiss.

Cordelia returned it happily, and then sighed. "We've gotta go," she said sadly. "Too much to do and not enough time, and... god, I wish we could just stay here."

"Me too." Doyle kissed her again before pulling back and levering himself up with a sigh. "But not at the cost of Angel."

"Exactly." She rolled over and got up, going over to her dresser to find some clean clothes. She thought jeans would be good, and definitely a shirt with long sleeves. "Okay," she said as she got dressed. "I've gotta find that scarily-out-of-date jacket and see how much stuff we're going to be able to smuggle in. I'm thinking some first aid supplies might not be a bad idea."

"Can't hurt," Doyle agreed, sitting up on the edge of the bed and watching her, an admiring gleam in his eye.

"Water. I don't know if they even _have_ water in Hell, but I think it's safe to assume that if they do, it might be better not to drink it." Cordelia went over to the closet and dug around in the back until she found the leather jacket. "Tah-dah!" she said, holding it up in front of herself. "Is that scary, or what?"

"Absolutely terrifying," Doyle deadpanned.

"Hey, don't mock the evil that is Michael Jackson," Cordelia warned him as she examined the jacket's pockets, hoping that the zippers still worked and trying to mentally calculate how much stuff they'd be able to fit. "That boy had stuff wrong with him _way_ before the whole chimpanzee fetish came out to the public."

"Can't argue with that. Y'know, I've always wondered if _he_ was part demon."

She froze, her eyes wide. "I never thought about that, but now that you mention it...On the other hand, for once something with seriously questionable fashion value is going to be put to good use. Do you think a blood packet will fit in this big pocket?" She came over and showed him the one she was referring to.

"Might. Though that was something I was thinking about putting in the knapsacks we're gonna have." Doyle got up and finally began getting dressed himself.

"We're gonna have knapsacks? Okay, then this is _so_ going in the trash." Cordelia dropped the jacket onto the bed with an expression of distaste. "You were just trying to see if you could get me to put that on, weren't you."

"It's still a good idea," Doyle argued. "The more we can take with us, the more we'll have at our disposal for... whatever we have to face."

She eyed the coat and then sighed, wondering why she all of a sudden cared so much. "Fine. But if this is part of some nefarious plot to take pictures of me looking less than fashionably up-to-date, you're going to regret it." She grinned at him crookedly so that he'd know she was mostly kidding.

"You know me, Princess." He gestured at his own clothes. "Fashion has never been a big concern of mine."

"I was kidding," she said flatly.

Doyle grinned at her, and moved to claim a kiss. "I know," he said, before moving away to keep getting ready.

"Okay, then. Let's get ourselves together and back to the office before it starts getting dark."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"We're here," Cordelia announced as they entered the office.

Wesley was sitting on edge of her desk, frowning over the same book again. "Oh," he said, glancing up at them. "Good."

"Uh huh. That's convincing." Cordelia took the bag Doyle had been carrying and set it down on the couch as she went over to Wesley. "What's wrong?"

"Hm?" Wesley looked up again. "Oh no, nothing's wrong. Sorry. I was just a bit distracted. You're both prepared?" He exchanged a look with Doyle, who nodded.

"As ready as we'll ever be," he said.

Wesley turned and picked up a piece of paper that was sitting behind him on the desk, then handed it to Doyle. "I've written out the offer," he said. "I ran it by someone I know -- someone who specializes in this sort of thing. It seemed prudent to double-check with someone who'd know." He seemed kind of apologetic about it, like he thought they'd flip out that he'd let someone else know what was going on, when in reality Cordelia thought showing it to a dozen people might have been good if it meant they didn't end up trapped in some hell dimension for all eternity.

Sitting on the small table in front of the couch, Doyle read over the paper. "I'm no expert, but it looks all right to me."

"Don't I get to see it?" Cordelia asked.

"Sure." Doyle offered it to her and she took it. "I take it we've got everything we need?"

"Of course," Wesley said, then launched into a list of the spell components he'd collected while Cordelia tried to concentrate on what was written on the piece of paper she was holding. By the time she'd finished, Wesley was winding down with, "And the mullein, obviously."

"Obviously," Doyle agreed, sounding amused. Cordelia looked up at him in time to catch the twinkle in his eyes -- if Wesley hadn't been there, she would have gone over and thrown her arms around him, so grateful to have him there that it took her breath away.

She smiled at him, then held up the paper. "Okay, so who gets this?"

"That would be Doyle," Wesley said, gesturing at him. "He'll be the one to read from it." Making sure he had Doyle's attention, he added, "Don't forget anything."

Which would have been the point of having it written down in the first place, Cordelia thought, but Doyle took the paper from her hand and said, "Don't worry -- I won't."

It didn't take long to set up the spell; they did that downstairs in Angel's apartment, because Wesley said they didn't want to risk being interrupted. First they packed up their knapsacks; then they shoved a bunch of furniture over toward the walls to make some clear space on the floor, and Wesley used a marker to carefully draw symbols there.

"Angel's gonna love this," Cordelia said, watching.

"Somehow I don't think he'll complain," Doyle told her.

"Are you kidding? Have you forgotten how annoyed he was about the whole linoleum thing?" Cordelia hadn't forgotten. On the other hand, he might be so traumatized from his stay in whatever hell dimension he was in that he wouldn't care about his floor being drawn on in sharpie.

Hey, it could happen.

"All right," Wesley said, standing up and starting to light candles. "I'll perform the summoning spell. You needn't do anything until the ksh'yyk demon appears."

Doyle nodded, shouldering the straps of both knapsacks and clutching the piece of paper Wesley had written on in his hand. "Ready, Princess?"

"No," Cordelia said, but sighed when they both looked at her, and stepped over to take Doyle's hand. "Okay, fine. Yes. Go ahead."

She tried to pay attention to the spell, just to have something to focus on, but it was seriously boring, not to mention the part where half of it was in some foreign language. Some icky demon language, probably. Something in the air changed -- it smelled funny, kind of sharp and metallic, if it was even possible for air to smell metallic. There was a sizzling sound, the lights went out, and then there was a crackle and blue lightning zig-zagged through the air. The force of it was enough that they all staggered backward -- Cordelia raised her arm to cover her face, letting go of Doyle in the process, and when she lowered it again there was a demon standing in the middle of the room.

Okay, 'standing' was kind of an exaggeration.

The demon -- the ksh'yyk -- was bigger than she'd expected, even having seen it lurking in the shadows in her vision. A sketch in a book didn't do much to get across how really _big_ something like that could be. It looked like a giant slug, or maybe some kind of snail -- the thing on its back might have been a sort of shell -- and it seemed distinctly upset about finding itself in Angel's apartment.

"We'd like to make a wager," Wesley said, and it turned its head toward him.

"Not you," it said dismissively, and flicked its tail, knocking the book he'd been holding from his hands. "You." The ksh'yyk looked at Doyle.

He didn't flinch under its steady and definitely annoyed gaze, and Cordelia felt a surge of pride. "That's right," he said. "You made a deal with a vampire -- with Angel. You told him you'd take him in exchange for me, only you didn't tell him I wasn't where he thought I was, did you."

"He made the offer," the ksh'yyk said. "It was no idea of mine." Its voice was that same slippery whisper that Cordelia remembered from her vision.

"Yeah, well, that's a convenient excuse, but you're telling it to the wrong guy," Doyle said. "We want him back."

"You would like to make a trade?" For the first time, the ksh'yyk seemed interested.

"Wait a minute," Cordelia said, frowning and not really caring that she was interrupting the conversation. "If he'd -- " and she gestured at the demon -- "rather have you than Angel, why didn't he just take you in the first place?"

"That's rather the point of heaven," Wesley said. "If it were that simple to rip someone out of it, it wouldn't qualify, would it? It's one thing to return someone to life, but another to send them to a hell dimension."

The ksh'yyk gestured impatiently. "The trade?"

"Not so much a trade as a wager," Wesley told it.

It nodded. "The terms?"

Wesley looked at Doyle, who held up his sheet of paper and took a deep breath before starting to read the offered deal out loud; Doyle and Cordelia on an attainable quest to bring Angel back from the hell dimension in which he was currently trapped. If they succeeded, they would be freed without further consequence. If they failed, their lives -- and souls -- were forfeit.

They'd read it over several times already in advance, so it sounded familiar to Cordelia, and it only took a few seconds for it to sink in that Doyle had altered the deal -- he'd left out her name, offering only himself.

"And me!" she said, stumbling over the words in her haste to get them out. "Both of us."

"No," Doyle said stubbornly. "That's not part of the bargain."

"Since when?" Cordelia said, hands on her hips.

"She offers herself," the ksh'yyk said, inclining its head. "The terms are acceptable. It is done."

And before either of them could say anything else, there was a flash of light, and the world vanished.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Traveling to hell was, in a word, hellish. Take the dizzying pain and disorientation of the worst vision, add in a bunch of vertigo and more than a hint of nausea that ended with you flat on your stomach in a pile of offal, and you'd be close.

Except it was worse than that.

Doyle groaned and rolled over. "That was... not fun."

"You really have a way with words," he heard Cordelia say hoarsely, and when he turned his head he saw her curled up on her side facing away from him. "When we get back, remind me to buy you a thesaurus." She pushed herself up onto her arms, gagged, and then spat into the dust. "Ew."

"Ew about sums it up all right." He sat up slowly, gingerly holding his head just in case it decided to crack into little pieces.

Cordelia pulled off her knapsack, dug around until she brought out a bottle of water, and took a sip. She swished it around in her mouth and leaned over to spit again. "Ick. See? The wonders of a wide vocabulary." The fingers of her other hand were pressed to her own temple, her eyes narrowed in what he thought was pain. "I can't believe you tried to go without me," she said.

"What -- you think I actually wanted to take the woman I love with me on a field trip to hell?" He wasn't going to apologize, not for that.

"Not the point," she told him. "You think I actually wanted to come? You think I wouldn't have rather stayed in my nice quiet apartment where my biggest worry is what to have for dinner? Or okay, maybe it's what'll happen if I have a vision in the shower, but still..."

"I wanted you safe," Doyle said stubbornly. "Bad enough Angel's here 'cause of me."

"God, would you stop? It's not your fault Angel got duped and ended up here."

"No, it's not my fault," he agreed, slowly pulling himself to his feet with a muffled groan. "But I was the bait. _I'm_ the reason he's here."

Cordelia stood up herself and brushed her hair back out of her face. "Okay, so let's just find him and get the He-eck out of here."

"Agreed." He let his Brachen face slip out, hoping to catch a whiff of Angel's scent or some other sign of him.

He turned in a slow circle, searching. Then, so faint he thought he might be imagining it, he heard something.

His own name.

"What is it?' he heard Cordelia ask, and then he could tell that she cut herself off from saying more as she realized that he was trying to listen.

It came again, and this time Doyle was sure. "This way," he said, starting off down the corridor they were in.

He could feel Cordelia sticking close behind him like a shadow. The dim light didn't bother him, but the floor was rough and uneven and he had to be careful of his footing. They rounded a corner and almost immediately found themselves at a T intersection.

Doyle didn't hesitate, taking the left corridor. He could still hear the voice intermittently, moaning and muttering incoherently. The only clear word was his name.

He followed it until it led them straight to a cell. "Here," he said, looking at the lock on the door.

Cordelia reached out and touched the lock. "Don't suppose you brought any handy skeleton keys?"

"No key," Doyle said, but rummaged in his pack and pulled out a crowbar. "But this should work." He slid the bar in between the bindings of the lock and twisted with all his strength.

The lock gave with a loud screech and snap of metal.

Dropping the crowbar onto the floor, he shoved the door open and entered cautiously, looking around until he spotted Angel. The vampire was crouched in the darkest corner of the room, one arm circling his knees and the other thrown up as if to protect his face and head. Even as Doyle stood there, Angel muttered a few words that he couldn't understand, and then spoke his name again.

"Oh, God... Angel," Cordelia said quietly from just behind him.

Swallowing hard, Doyle moved closer, kneeling down beside him. "Angel," he said, reaching out to touch the vampire.

Before his fingers could even make contact, Angel cringed away further into the corner. His shirt hung from his shoulders in tatters; the fact that he was still bothering to wear it at all spoke volumes about his mental state. Through the strips of fabric Doyle could see extensive bruising and a fair amount of dried blood.

Doyle reached out again, even as he vowed to somehow find a way to make whatever had done this to his friend pay in kind. "Angel, man, it's okay. It's me. Doyle."

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Angel muttered, "Not real. It's not real."

Christ, he was going to start crying any second, Doyle was sure, seeing Angel like this. But he held onto a semblance of calm as he kept trying to reach his friend. "I'm real, Angel." He took Angel's hand, and pressed it against his chest, over his heart.

Angel looked up at him slowly. Blinked. The hand under his tensed for just a second, relaxed, and then tensed again, like Angel was trying to test him. "Doyle?" he said hesitantly.

Behind him, Cordelia shifted uneasily on the stone floor, and in immediate response Angel grabbed onto him and turned him; Doyle found himself pressed up against the wall, with Angel between him and Cordelia, protecting him from a danger that only existed in the vampire's mind.

Doyle grabbed onto Angel's shoulder, urging the vampire to turn back to him. "It's all right," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "That's Cordy. We're here to get you out."

Angel glanced at Doyle, back at Cordy, and then, seemingly soothed by the tone of Doyle's voice, relaxed noticably. "Doyle?" he said again. "You're real?"

"Yeah," Doyle told him, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm real." He was resisting the urge to hug him, to prove to himself that _Angel_ was real, then wondered why he was resisting. Giving in, he wrapped his arms around his friend and hugged him tightly.

He felt Angel tense again for an instant, and then a fine tremor ran through him. He didn't make any effort to return the embrace, just let Doyle hold him; the tension in his frame was worrisome. When Doyle pulled back enough to see Angel's face, the vampire's eyes held more than a hint of gold, and he continued to tremble. He saw Doyle looking at him and squeezed his eyes shut tight, shaking his head, muttering, "Can't be real."

"Gee, you're going to hurt a guy's feelings, if you keep denying my existence," Doyle said, trying for a light tone, but his voice cracked halfway through. He glanced over Angel's shoulder at Cordy. "Get the blood out of the pack."

Angel's eyes stayed stubbornly closed as Doyle watched him and Cordelia rummaged around until she was able to find the blood that they'd brought. She stepped forward, arm outstretched, to hand one of the bags to Doyle, and Angel startled away from her, bumping into Doyle in his haste and knocking him into the wall.

"Ouch," Doyle said faintly.

Cordelia's eyes were wide when they met his, but she didn't say anything, as if she was afraid that speaking out loud would freak Angel out even more. She took a step to the side, away from Angel, and then moved in closer to Doyle and handed him the blood.

Doyle gave her a reassuring smile as he took the packet, before turning his attention fully back to Angel. "Here," he said gently, offering the blood to him. "Drink."

Another tremor went through Angel's body, and then his hand reached out for the packet. He glanced at Doyle, looking for permission, and what he saw in Doyle's eyes must have been enough to reassure him, because he pressed the bag to his mouth, morphed into game face, and pierced the plastic with his fangs.

Doyle watched him drink, keeping a hand on Angel's arm just to stay in contact with him.

In what seemed like less than a minute the bag was emptied, and Cordelia handed over the second of the bags they'd brought. This one was gone even more quickly, and as Angel worked his way through the others he seemed, strangely, to have less control, rather than more.

"Angel?" Doyle asked as he handed the last bag they had to the vampire, more than a little worried as it didn't seem to be helping. "You with me yet, man?"

Angel growled low in his throat as he tore into the bag, and then looked at Doyle with an expression of horror, as if he realized what he was doing but couldn't stop himself.

"Cordy, we got any more?" he asked tightly, even as he kept eye contact with Angel.

He heard her rustling around, and then she said, "Nope. That's the last one."

Doyle could see in Angel's eyes that it wasn't going to be enough. He hesitated only a second before pulling out the knife he'd attached to his belt and sliding the blade across his forearm.

Cordelia's sharp intake of breath distracted him for only the briefest of instants, but that was enough for Angel to grab onto him and shove him more firmly against the wall. Doyle felt Angel's mouth on his arm, drawing blood from the self-inflicted wound, and then the sharp slice of fangs when apparently the flow wasn't quick enough. Over Angel's shoulder he saw Cordelia standing with the crowbar in her hand, not lifted, but ready.

Doyle sucked in his breath at the feel of Angel feeding from him; it wasn't unpleasant. Far from it. He raised his free hand to tangle in Angel's hair, closing his eyes to better concentrate on the sensations.

"Talk to me," Cordelia said, and he could hear the worry in her voice. "Otherwise I'm not going to know if I need to stop him."

"I'm all right," Doyle said immediately. "He needs it. Let him drink."

Angel slipped his arm around Doyle's waist, supporting him and embracing him at the same time, and continued to feed for nearly another minute before pulling back. When he raised his face it was human again, and he lifted a trembling hand to the corner of his mouth to wipe away the drops of blood that clung there. "Doyle?" he said. "This is... you're really here."

Doyle grinned in relief. "Yeah, Angel. It's really me."

The arm around his waist tightened, pulling him closer, and Angel leaned in as if breathing his scent. Then he stiffened and pulled away again. "Oh God," he said. "We've got to get out of here."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that," Doyle said. "You up to moving?"

Angel nodded and, releasing Doyle, used the wall to force himself onto his feet. "Out of here _now,_ " he said. His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming too long. Doyle didn't want to think about it.

Doyle got to his own feet, ignoring the lightheadedness that seemed to be moving around the edges of his vision.

"Do we _know_ how to get out of here?" Cordelia asked, shouldering the knapsack. There was no sign of the crowbar.

Angel ignored her. He put one hand under Doyle's elbow and started moving him toward the doorway, but once in the hallway he paused, looking confused. "I don't... I can't remember." He seemed to be keeping himself together by a thread.

"It's okay. We'll find the way. We're not losing you again."

Cordelia was close behind them, but Doyle could tell she was making an effort not to draw attention to herself. Angel stood still for a moment and then gestured with his hand. "That way. I think."

"So we've got a direction. That's good," Doyle encouraged. He exchanged a look with Cordy; Angel wasn't exactly instilling confidence, but they didn't have any better idea of where the way out was.

"Yeah," Angel said, and started walking the way he'd indicated without letting go of Doyle's arm, giving Doyle the distinct impression that if he hadn't gone along he would have been dragged. "We... it's not safe here."

"Yeah, not exactly the best of neighborhoods, is it?" Doyle asked, feeling the need to keep talking, keep engaging Angel. He wanted to keep him from sliding back into whatever scary mental place he'd been when they found him.

"Not safe," Angel muttered again, continuing to walk, but glancing at Doyle like he needed to reassure himself of his presence.

From behind them, Cordelia asked, "What's _wrong_ with him? I thought blood was, like, the magic vampire cure-all."

"He's on his feet and moving, and he recognizes me. That's more than before he drank," Doyle pointed out. He glanced at Angel, then continued, hoping that, if the vampire understood, he'd forgive him for talking about him in the third person. "We don't know how long he's been here from his point of view, or what's been done to him. It's going to take time."

"Well, I don't like it," Cordelia said, "but I guess he's right about one thing -- getting out of here sounds like a good idea to me." He felt her hand touch his back fleetingly, like she needed the contact.

Angel didn't seem to take any notice of their conversation. He just kept moving determinedly, not loosening his hold on Doyle's arm.They got to the end of the corridor they were traveling along and there were two staircases -- one leading up, the other down. Angel stopped. "I don't..."

Doyle looked at the staircases. "What do you think, Princess? Up or down?" It was dank and damp where they were, which lent credence to them being underground. "I'm voting for up, I think."

"Up's fine; flip a coin if that's what it takes, let's just keep moving," Cordelia said, the front of her arm pressing against the back of his. "This place gives me the creeps. Angel? Up?"

Again, Angel gave no indication of having heard her.

Doyle frowned and repeated the question. "Angel? Do we go up, man?"

Angel shook his head a little bit. "I don't know. I don't..." he paused for a long moment as if he were lost in thought, and just when Doyle was about to question him again, he suddenly said, "Yes. Up."

As they started up the stairs, Doyle spoke over his shoulder to Cordelia. "Cordy, try talking to him. I want to check something."

"What do you want me to say?" Cordelia asked, and then immediately started talking again without waiting for an answer. "Hey, Angel? Um... how's it going? I mean, did all that blood make you feel better? Because let me tell you, it wasn't easy to get that much on such short notice."

Angel didn't respond; he kept moving, one stair after another. He walked like each step was painful, the hand that wasn't attached to Doyle's arm helping to support his weight against the rough stone wall.

Doyle once again repeated what Cordelia had said, more or less. "Angel? How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Angel said roughly, and then stumbled on the next step and grunted in pain.

"Easy!" Doyle warned, as he automatically moved to support him, taking on more of Angel's weight, gritting his teeth as he did so. "We don't need to be taking a tumble back down these stairs. Just take it slow, okay?"

Cordelia was right behind them, one hand on Doyle's back and, he thought, the other on Angel's. "Yeah, whatever you do, don't wipe out with me behind you," she said.

"Gotta get out," Angel muttered in response, shifting some of his weight off of Doyle and starting to move again, though more slowly now.

"He doesn't even know I'm here, does he?" Cordelia asked in a low voice.

"I don't think so," Doyle replied softly, staring up at Angel as they carefully continued climbing. "He barely seems to know I'm here, and nothing outside of that."

"But that's gonna get better, right? I mean, he's going to go back to normal?"

"I hope so."

They reached the next landing -- he thought maybe it was the second one -- and Angel paused and then shook his head. "No. Higher." They started up the next flight of stairs.

That was repeated on the next landing, and the one after that, and the one after that. Doyle's legs were starting to protest the slow climb, especially as Angel's weight against him was gradually growing heavier. They were going to need a break soon.

Angel paused longer on the next landing, and Doyle caught the very faint scent of fresh air. Okay, maybe not _fresh,_ but different. "Here," Angel said and, leaving the staircase behind, headed stiffly down the wide hallway.

"You okay?" Cordelia asked, moving up beside Doyle and looking at him worriedly.

"Yeah," Doyle replied, drudging up a reassuring smile for her. "He's just a bit on the heavy side."

"Should I help? I'm kind of nervous about what he'll do if I try to touch him that much..."

"There," Angel said, interrupting her and gesturing at the strange yellowed light that was flooding the hallway in front of them.

"The way out?" Doyle asked.

"Gotta get out of here," Angel agreed, and then as they neared the place where the light fell onto the floor he stopped, looking at it uncertainly.

"Angel?"

Angel's dark eyes met his worriedly. "I can't," he said.

"You can't?" Doyle repeated, then looked from Angel to the light and back, suddenly figuring out what Angel was talking about in a flash of insight. "Angel, I don't think it's sunlight. Not here."

"I can't. But you have to go where it's safe." Angel let go of Doyle's arm for the first time since they'd left the cell and gave him a gentle shove in the right direction. "Go on."

"Like hell I'm going without you," Doyle protested, moving until he was standing directly in front of Angel, reaching out and grabbing the other man by the arms. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

Angel said stubbornly, "I need you to be safe. _Go._ Doyle... you have to go."

In the meanwhile, Cordelia had moved down the hallway to peer outside. She came back and told Doyle, "It's not sunlight. I don't know where it's coming from -- it's all glowy and weird -- but there's no sun."

"Great. Now if we can get him to believe that." To Angel, he said, "I need you to be safe, too. You have to come with me." He took Angel's hands in his and began backing towards the light.

Angel sighed and passively allowed himself to be led, as if he could accept whatever was going to happen as long as it meant Doyle got out. When they reached the doorway and he realized he was still standing, his eyes widened slightly. "Doyle?"

Doyle smiled at him, though something in the vincinity of his heart clenched at the willingness Angel showed to sacrifice himself for him. "I'm going to keep you safe, Angel. Promise."

But Angel grabbed onto Doyle's upper arms and squeezed them tightly, looking suddenly more like himself than he had so far. "Oh God," he said hoarsely. "This isn't a dream. This is real. _What are you doing here?_ "

"Isn't it obvious? We're rescuing you."

Angel shook him with trembling hands. "It was supposed to get you out -- that's why I did it. But you're here. Why are you here?"

"What part of 'rescuing you' isn't getting through here?" Doyle asked, reaching up and covering Angel's hands with his own.

"I don't deserve to be rescued," Angel said harshly. "I just want you safe."

Cordelia spoke up. "Can't we save this until we're --"

Angel turned at the sound of her voice and took a step toward her. "Cordy?"

"Well hello, it's about time. Yes, it's me, and as far as I'm concerned _none_ of us should be here. So can we please get the heck away from this dungeon or whatever it is and talk about this later?"

"Cordy's got a point. This place is making my skin crawl. Can you tell us about how undeserving you are while we keep moving?"

Angel nodded, and another look of confusion crossed his face. "Where do we go?"

"For now, outside," Doyle replied, not sure of anything beyond that.

"And after that, away," Cordelia said quickly as the three of them moved through the doorway and out onto the hard-packed earth. "Away from here, away from this whole place."

Doyle looked at their surroundings, seeing the same barren landscape in every direction. "Guess they couldn't provide some handy road signs, huh?"

"That'd be asking for too much." Cordelia sighed. "And okay, not that I'm crazy about the visions, but this would be a good time to have one if it showed us how to get out of here."

"Yeah. But I think we're on our own here." Doyle frowned as he once again did a full turn looking at the desolate landscape around them hoping for some kind of clue which way to go. "The conditions said we'd find what we needed to find our way out, but the only thing we've found so far is..." His gaze drifted to Angel.

Angel's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. Doyle couldn't tell if he was in pain, trying to sense something, or just generally out of it.

"Do you think -- " Cordelia started to ask, and then stopped as she noticed Angel's expression too.

"Angel?" Doyle asked softly, reaching out and touching his arm. Images from that first vision he'd had that brought him to Angel, of the vampire's past swirled through his mind, including the brief horrifying glimpse of his time in hell the first time. "Have you been here before?"

Brown eyes opened and met his briefly before looking away. "I don't... Maybe. I can't..." Angel shook his head. "I can't remember. It feels familiar, I just don't..." He brought a hand up to rub at his shoulder, and his fingers caught in the shredded fabric of his shirt. He pulled it off of himself and let the garment fall to the ground, revealing the extent of the bruising and other injuries that covered his upper body.

"Christ..." Doyle breathed, hand reaching out, but not touching. He wasn't sure he could without causing his friend any more pain. "Geez, Angel, I'm sorry."

"What?" Angel glanced down at himself as if he didn't understand, and then swallowed and said, "It's fine. It'll heal." His eyes searched the landscape and then met Doyle's again. "I don't... I can't remember," he repeated. From his tone of voice Doyle thought that what Angel was saying was that he didn't want to remember, that maybe right then he didn't feel capable of handling what he'd remember.

"It's all right," Doyle said quickly. "We'll figure it out somehow. That's what we're good at, isn't it? In the meantime, maybe we can find somewhere to rest for a bit; I think we all could use it."

Cordelia nodded. "You both look like you could, anyway." She handed a water bottle over to Doyle. "Drink something, would you? You need to replace fluids after you serve as a human -- or, you know, half-human -- blood bank. And again, I'm all for the getting away from this place."

"Let's go, then," Angel said rather absently and, seeming to choose a direction at random, took a few hesitant steps and then wavered on his feet.

"Whoa!" Doyle exclaimed, dropping the water bottle and diving forward to steady Angel before he could fall. "Okay, that's it. We're resting. Now."

"No," Angel said, just as emphatically, looking at Doyle with one of the most serious expressions he could remember having seen on the vampire's face. His voice was low, pitched for Doyle's ears alone. "Listen to me when I say we've got to get out of here. If not for you and me, for Cordy. The stuff they'd... do to her... We can't stay here."

"We also can't protect her if we can't stand up," Doyle said back in the same low voice. "Okay, compromise -- we get away from the building, then we rest."

"Okay." Angel stood up straighter by what looked like sheer force of will and glanced at Cordelia, who came over and pressed the retrieved water bottle back into Doyle's hand. She slipped around to Angel's other side and helped support him.

"We're going?" she asked.

"Yeah," Doyle said, sliding his arm around Angel from his side, until his hand was covering Cordy's. "Together." They began walking in the direction Angel had chosen, all three in contact and leaning on each other.

It was easy walking because the terrain was so flat, but jarring because the earth was hard-packed and dry. There weren't any real landmarks to be seen -- some scraggly tree-like things here and there, and some rocks, but even so everything looked pretty much the same. They'd been walking for more than fifteen minutes when Angel stumbled and would have gone down if it hadn't been for the two of them supporting him.

"Look at this nice convenient boulder," Cordelia said cheerfully as she and Doyle lowered Angel to the ground so that he could lean against it. She fixed Doyle with a glare and told him, "You sit down, too."

Doyle opened his mouth to protest, but Cordy glared harder and he meekly shut his mouth and sank down to the ground beside Angel. "I'm all right," he insisted, ignoring the way that the world seemed to be spinning just a bit off-center. After all, it wasn't all that different from being just a little bit drunk -- though without the alcoholic buzz.

"You don't look all right, you look like shit," Cordelia snapped. She rummaged around in her knapsack and then handed Doyle an energy bar. "Here. Get some calories into you, and would you please drink some of that water? What am I going to do if you're both out of it? I -- " She shook her head.

Feeling instantly contrite at worrying her, Doyle meekly obeyed, opening the bottle and drinking the water, realizing how thirsty he was only when he did.

Cordelia took the small first aid kit from her knapsack and knelt next to Doyle, turning his cut arm so that she could inspect it. She poured some antiseptic onto a gauze pad and started to dab at the wound carefully, obviously trying not to hurt him. "We should have wrapped this up before," she said with a frown.

"We were kinda busy," Doyle said, trying not to wince as she tended to the cut. "Besides, I had this big clingy vampire who would have been in the way," he added, throwing a teasing look Angel's way, hoping he'd recovered enough for such things.

Angel glanced at him and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly before he went back to sitting quietly, staring at his hands.

Cordelia finished cleaning the cut and wrapped it up, and then got up and moved over closer to Angel. Sitting back on her heels, she looked at his injuries and then at Doyle for guidance.

Doyle glanced at Angel, wincing again at the amount of damage the vampire had sustained. But it wasn't all bad; it was, as Angel had assured them, healing -- some of the more minor bruises and cuts were almost gone.

But there were some more series, deeper injuries, and those ones probably would benefit from some treatment.

"Hey Angel," he began, "you wanna let Cordy do her Florence Nightingale routine on you? She's actually pretty good."

Angel looked up at Cordelia sitting next to him, and recognition flashed across his face. It was almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Cordelia. Right." His gaze moved over to Doyle. "What?"

"Cordy's going to clean your wounds," Doyle said patiently, soothingly. He exchanged worried looks with Cordelia though as she moved forward to do so; Angel's attention wandering was worrisome. "Talk to me, Angel," he said, trying to keep Angel's mind in the here and now.

"I don't -- what do you want me to say?" Angel remained perfectly still as Cordelia started to clean the deep slash across his ribcage, even as his jaw tightened against the pain.

"Anything," Doyle said. "Whatever you want. Just stay with me."

"I'm here, Doyle. I'm not going anywhere." Despite his words, Angel sounded distant. He let his head fall back against the boulder they were leaning on and closed his eyes.

"Well, good," Doyle said, deciding to maybe try and provoke him a little. "Because this going off and sacrificing yourself for my own good is a load of crap, I'm telling you."

Angel didn't move or open his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was rough with exhaustion, but he put enough emphasis behind the words to make it clear how he felt. "I was here before. I knew. Once I found out you were in Hell... do you really think I could have left you here? You shouldn't have come back for me."

Ignoring for the moment Angel's misconception about where he'd been, Doyle shot back, "Do you really think I could have just gone on with my life, knowing that you were _here_ because of me?"

"That's what you should have done. I'm not here because of you -- I would have ended up here again sooner or later anyway. I've always known that." He flinched as Cordelia pulled a sliver of what looked like metal from a wound in his side.

She tossed it away with a grimace. "Okay, can I just say ew?" She reached for his side with another wad of gauze.

Angel pushed her hand away. "Leave it, Cordelia."

Doyle reached out and grabbed onto Angel's hands, pulling them away from Cordy. "Let her work. Yeah, you're healing, but some of these need some looking at regardless." He was worried about how easy it was to hold Angel's hands down.

Vowing to himself once again that he was going to get them all out of here and back home alive -- or relatively so -- and well, Doyle continued their conversation. "My life isn't worth yours. That was the whole point of me taking on the Beacon in the first place."

"That shouldn't have happened," Angel said quietly. He turned his hand in Doyle's, and his thumb gently stroked the sensitive skin of Doyle's palm. "I shouldn't have let it happen."

"Hey, you'd take away my one moment of glory playing the hero?" Doyle teased gently, then got serious again. "You didn't let it happen, Angel. I made sure you couldn't stop me."

Eyes still closed, Angel rolled his head back and forth very slightly. If Doyle hadn't been watching him so closely, he would have missed it.

Cordelia finished sticking a gauze pad over the last deep wound and sat back on her heels again. "There. That's the best I can do."

"It'll do," Doyle said, giving her a smile. "We'll trust his vampire healing to take care of the rest." He turned his attention back to Angel, his heart going out to his friend who looked so tired and defeated.

Turning his hand to be able to squeeze Angel's, Doyle gave it a small tug until Angel opened his eyes and looked at him. "I don't want you to think that what you did means nothing to me. On the contrary, it means..." He shook his head, letting some of the wonder he'd felt along with the anger show through. "It means a lot. I never thought anyone would do something like that for me."

"Doyle, I..." Angel's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I would have died for you," he said finally, and brought the hand that Doyle wasn't holding up to touch the side of Doyle's face, cradling it like it was something infinitely precious.

There was something in Angel's eyes that made Doyle's heart beat faster. Following his instincts, not completely understanding why, Doyle leaned forward and kissed him.

He heard Cordelia make a little noise that sounded more like surprise than protest, and then Angel was kissing him back, clinging to him like a man with nothing else left to hold on to.

Doyle held onto him in return, still following his instincts. He wanted to make things better, wanted... wanted things his mind still shied from.

Angel's lips were cool and firm against his own, and Doyle could tell from the way he was trembling that he was trying desperately to rein himself in, to pull back and cut himself off from the connection they were sharing. Angel slowly and deliberately released the fistful of Doyle's shirt fabric that he'd grabbed onto and then broke the contact, his head bowed. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Doyle however refused to let go, or move away. "What for?" he asked almost belligerently. " _I_ kissed _you_. And I'm thinking of doing it again."

For that moment, Angel had been there, really there with him. He wasn't about to let him go now.

"I didn't... you don't want this." Angel's gaze fell on Doyle's bandaged forearm, and he looked up at him, eyes haunted. "I'm sorry."

"You haven't done anything you need to apologize for," Doyle told him. "Except maybe not letting me decide for myself what I want." He leaned in and kissed him again, _needing_ to keep that connection.

Angel seemed to be fighting against the desire for long seconds, but in the end his desperation took over and he returned the kiss, his hand clutching at Doyle's shirt again. When he broke the kiss this time he wrapped his arms around himself and Doyle could feel him trembling with what he thought was suppressed emotion.

Doyle wrapped his arms around him as well, keeping him close, not letting him pull away.

Seeming to have run out of the energy to fight it or, indeed, do anything else, Angel let himself be held. The trembling slowly eased off, and after a minute or so Doyle felt him relax into the embrace a little bit more.

"Is he asleep?" Cordelia asked very quietly.

"Yeah, I think," Doyle said softly, not wanting to wake him. He looked up at Cordelia, not sure what he needed to say. "Cordy, I --"

She turned her face away. "I guess you weren't kidding when you used to say that stuff about being attracted to him." She didn't sound angry.

"He's important to me. So are you." He wanted to go to her but didn't want to let go of Angel.

"I know." Cordelia looked down at the first aid kit still in her hands, and carefully began to pack the unused supplies back into. "He's really messed up, isn't he?" she asked finally.

"He's been in hell for god only knows how long. Alone. Yeah, he's messed up." Doyle looked down at the vampire nestled against his chest. "But he sees us, he recognizes us. We can bring him back."

"I didn't say we couldn't," Cordelia said. "He did it before, but he had Buffy then. It was all, you know, tragic doomed romance and soaring violin music. Unless you think all of those pictures he drew of you are another example of that." She glanced up at him casually, but he could tell that the idea made her uneasy.

"I don't know. I don't think I'm a soaring violins kinda guy, do you?" Letting the humor fall away, Doyle met Cordy's gaze seriously. "I don't know why he's fixating on me. I mean, I'm just... me. "

Cordelia frowned. "Don't say it like that. Just because you're no Jude Law, it doesn't mean people won't love you." She raised her hand a little bit in illustration. "He felt awful after you died -- we both did. He'd hardly even say your name."

Doyle looked back down at the sleeping vampire. "I never wanted to hurt either of you."

Having tucked the first aid kit back into her knapsack, Cordelia moved over beside Doyle and leaned against the boulder. She ran her fingers over his upper arm soothingly. "I know that, too. You saved us -- heck, you saved hundreds of people, probably. I guess what I'm trying to say is -- it sucked, but it was a good thing, what you did. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." He smiled a little. "The right thing. Better me than him." He looked at her. "Still didn't want to hurt you."

This time she poked his arm warningly. "If you mean the visions, I think we covered that one already. And if you're talking about the emotional trauma of watching you die, I sort of think what would have happened if you hadn't taken out the Beacon would have been worse, judging from the screaming and all." Cordelia smiled a little bit. "You're back, and we're gonna get out of here. That's all there is to it."

It was awkward, but Doyle managed to stretch over enough to kiss her without letting go of Angel. "That's what I love about you -- you've got enough spirit to keep us all going."

"And don't you forget it." She brushed her fingers over his cheek. "Are you okay like that? It doesn't look comfortable."

Angel stirred slightly, and then resettled, his arm slipping around Doyle's waist and holding on.

Doyle automatically tightened his own embrace around his friend. "I'm fine. Can stay like this as long as he needs me to."

"Which leads us to the question of how long we should sit here," Cordelia said, looking around. "Although at least no one can sneak up on us."

"We can stay here a little bit longer," Doyle said looking down at Angel. "He needs the rest."

"He's not the only one, Mr. Voluntary Blood Donor. You're paler than he is." She tilted her head as she compared them. "Well, maybe not. But it's close."

"I'm fine," Doyle said stubbornly. He could deal with the lightheadedness and everything so it didn't bear mentioning.

"Sure you are." Cordelia didn't look convinced but she seemed willing to let the subject drop. She rubbed his shoulder and shifted her position on the hard, uncomfortable ground, then asked, "So what do we do next? I mean, there's got to be a way to figure out how to get out of here, right? The thought of just striking out in a random direction doesn't inspire a lot of confidence."

"Our best bet is still following Angel," Doyle said. "Even if he's not entirely sure. It's more than we've got otherwise."

"Well, there's gotta be some kind of portal or something. You think he knows where it is?" She sighed. "Too bad they couldn't have given us a map."

"Considering this is hell, I shudder to think what they would have written the map on." He looked down, watching Angel sleep. "He knows," he said, with maybe more assurance than he felt. "He got out of here once before. He'll get us out this time too."

Cordelia's arm pressed up against his as she leaned over to smooth Angel's hair gently. "I hope you're right," she said.

Doyle found himself leaning slightly against her warmth. "We didn't come all this way to blow it now, Princess. We'll make it."

"Oh, I'm not worried about us making it out of here," Cordelia replied, and from the way she said it he thought she was telling the truth. "I'm just finding it a little hard to believe that Angel's going to be up for anything more than being dragged around, if his performance so far is any indication." She shifted her position again, this time moving so that Doyle could rest part of his weight against her instead of the boulder.

"He got us out of that building," Doyle pointed out, leaning his head on her shoulder. A moment closing his eyes couldn't hurt...

"It's okay," he heard Cordelia say quietly. "It's okay to rest, Doyle. I'm right here."

"Maybe just for a moment," he murmured, letting himself relax against her.

Her fingers brushed through his hair. "Don't worry. It's gonna be fine."

Sandwiched as he was between the two most important people in his life, Doyle couldn't find it in himself to doubt that.

 

 

Cordelia sat there for what felt like a long time, while Doyle slept on her shoulder and Angel slept in Doyle's arms. She was too nervous to really relax herself -- not frantic-nervous, just aware. She listened carefully for anything suspicious, but there wasn't anything to hear but the sound of Doyle's breathing and the occasional faint whimper from Angel.

Doyle stirred, turning his head so that he could nuzzle at the bare skin above her collar. He was still more than half asleep, but seemed affectionate even in his dreams.

She shivered a little bit and then went back to sitting very quietly, not wanting to wake either of them if they still needed the sleep and nothing scary was going on. Then her mind wandered to the thought of watching Doyle and Angel kissing -- there was definitely a spark of jealousy there... okay, maybe more than a spark. But she wasn't going to worry about it now. They had more important things to deal with. Against her will, her mind's eye brushed over the image again, of Doyle's lips pressed to Angel's, and she shivered a second time.

Doyle stirred again, closer to waking, seemingly in response to her shiver.

Great, the poor guy was trying to sleep and she was waking him up because of freakage over a stupid kiss. Cordelia ran her fingers through his hair and then kissed his forehead gently. "Sorry," she whispered, not knowing if he was awake enough to hear her.

"Princess?" Sleepy green eyes blinked up at her. "What's wrong?"

"Other than the fact that we're in Hell?" Her voice was still barely above a whisper. "Shh. It's okay -- nothing's wrong. Well, nothing new," she amended.

But Doyle was looking more awake by the second, though he was still looking a bit ragged around the edges. "Tell me," he bid gently, sitting up a little to be able to meet her eyes. "Even if it isn't new, I still want to hear it."

"Let's save it, okay?" The last thing she wanted to do was get into the details of her weird jealousy here. It was time to focus on the issue at hand. Time to -- "I think I'm jealous," she whispered. " _Me._ Jealous. Can you believe it?"

"Hey." Doyle shifted enough to slide one hand through Cordy's hair, to cup the nape of her neck, holding her still for him to kiss. "You know how I feel about you, right? That I love you?"

"Well, yeah. But cut me some slack if I wasn't counting on the idea of you going around kissing other people." There was a tightness in her chest that was unfamiliar. Or maybe it _was_ familiar. Either way, she didn't like it.

"If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't something I was planning on doing either." Doyle glanced down at Angel. "But... it's Angel."

Cordelia nodded. "I know." Angel stirred again, a little whimper escaping him, and she reached down quickly to rub his shoulder. "Shh. We're here."

He whimpered a second time and his arm around Doyle tightened perceptibly as he burrowed in closer like he was trying to find a place to hide.

Doyle rubbed his hand in circles on Angel's back soothingly. "Sounds like a whopper of a nightmare," he commented worriedly.

"Yeah." Cordelia wouldn't have liked to admit it, but hearing Angel sounding all lost and vulnerable really bothered her. "Do you think we should wake him up?"

Before Doyle had a chance to respond, Angel jolted upright out of his arms with a strangled cry, his face tormented.

Doyle immediately moved to comfort him, rubbing his shoulder. "It's okay, Angel. You're okay. We've got you."

She could see Angel shaking, and he ducked his head and brought a hand up to hide his face. "I'm not..." he said, and then stopped and swallowed hard. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Doyle gently tugged on Angel's wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, making him look up and meet his eyes. "Yeah, you are," he said with an encouraging smile. "'Cause we've got you."

Hesitant, and hating that she felt hesitant, Cordelia moved a little bit closer and reached out to touch Angel, feeling a need to do something that might drive that look off of his face. "It's okay," she told him. "We're gonna get out of here."

But Angel's eyes were locked on Doyle's and he didn't acknowledge her touch or words in any way. She wasn't used to being ignored, and it bothered her in an unspecific way that she couldn't quite have defined, but she tried to convince herself that it was temporary, just due to the stress and everything he'd been through. Angel hitched himself closer to Doyle and leaned in, resting his forehead against Doyle's chest in a position that looked more like submission than anything else.

Doyle wrapped his arms around Angel, hugging him tightly, protectively. He exchanged worried looks with Cordy before turning his full attention back to Angel. "I've got you," he repeated, fiercely. "Not going to let anything hurt you."

"I know," she heard Angel say roughly into Doyle's shirt, and then he pushed himself away and sat back up, rubbing his knuckles across his cheeks like was trying to wipe away tears. "Sorry. Having kind of a hard time staying focused, here." He winced and pressed the flat of his hand against the gauze bandage covering the wound that had had the sliver of metal in it.

Cordelia moved in quickly to look at it. "Move your hand," she instructed gently, and then repeated it as she physically pried his hand away from the bandage. Fresh blood stained the gauze, looking bright against the white and his pale skin."You need another bandage," she said, wondering if it was a bad sign that he was still bleeding. She reached for the first aid kit and started to carefully peel off the tape that was holding the old gauze on.

"Thanks," Angel said, his voice tight and controlled.

Doyle hovered anxiously as she changed the dressing. "Is there anything you need that'll help?" he asked Angel, and it was like Cordy could see into his brain to what he was going to say. The idiot was going to offer more of his blood.

" _No,_ " Cordelia said quickly. "Look, I'm all about Angel getting better, and I don't want him to starve any more than you do. But you just let him... it's too soon." There was no way she was going to offer, herself. The idea of it gave her the creeps. She focused on getting the new bandage taped on, and then, seeing the strain on Angel's face, reached out and stroked his shoulder. "We should have thought to bring clothes," she said to Doyle.

"Yeah," Doyle agreed with a grimace. "Not like anything of mine is going to fit him." He looked from Angel to her and back again. "Listen, if another... drink would help, I can-"

Cordelia refused to let him even finish that sentence. "Did I or did I not just say 'no?' I can say it again. _No._ " The thought of being in this place with Angel being Mr.-Only-Partially-There and Doyle weak from blood loss didn't fit into her plans at all. "Angel's got super-vampire-healing. Just give him some time and he'll be good as new."

"She's right." Angel was looking at Doyle and Cordelia could see the hunger on his face. He might have been trying to hide it, but he was doing a really crappy job. "It's not a good idea."

Doyle looked like he was going to continue to protest, but finally gave in with an ill concealed sigh. "Fine. But if that super fast healing doesn't kick in soon, we're revisiting the option."

She could see Angel's hand trembling like someone waiting for his next fix as he reached out and traced a finger from Doyle's jaw down across his throat. He was transfixed, staring at Doyle as if convinced he were dreaming. He moved in closer, brought his face to Doyle's throat, and inhaled, leaving Cordelia to wonder if he could actually smell the blood running through Doyle's veins.

"Doyle?" she asked uncertainly, afraid to move in case it caused Angel to snap. She was keenly aware that if Angel got it into his head to drain Doyle -- or both of them -- she might not be able to stop him.

"It's okay, Cordy," Doyle told her, remaining perfectly still under Angel's attentions.

Okay was pretty much the last thing it was, but she didn't know what to do, so she waited.

Angel's arm slipped around Doyle and then he pulled the smaller man to him with a sudden jerk. Cordelia couldn't help but think that Angel was moving like a wild animal -- feral, controlled by his basest instincts, and that scared her more than anything else. But Doyle's eyes flickered to meet hers reassuringly; he seemed totally calm and relaxed. She watched as Angel yanked Doyle's shirt away from the juncture of his throat and shoulder, the top button jumping away onto the baked earth.

"We did pack another shirt for me, right?" Doyle asked faintly, still keeping perfectly still under Angel's attentions.

"Yeah. But only one."

Angel leaned in and Cordelia wasn't sure if he was smelling Doyle's neck, or licking him, or what. Then in a flash, so quickly that she wouldn't have been able to do anything about it even if she'd wanted to, he morphed into game face and jerked Doyle even closer. Doyle flinched and she moved immediately so that she could more clearly see what was going on -- Angel's teeth were sunk into Doyle's throat, his eyes closed as he fed.

"Take it easy there, Angel. If you hurt him I'm gonna have to stake you," she warned, and then twitched as the response from Angel was a faint growl.

"No," Doyle gasped, his own eyes closing as Angel fed off of him. "S'okay. S'good..."

As she watched, a thin line of blood escaped Angel's mouth and ran down across Doyle's skin in stark constrast to his pale Irish complexion. Angel growled again and she could see his hands tighten their grip on Doyle.

"Angel? He needs that blood to live, you know..."

She waited a few more seconds, and then just as she was going to do something -- or so she told herself, since she had no idea if she could actually bring herself to stake him despite her bravado -- Angel withdrew, still in game face, and licked the free blood from Doyle's throat with a sound of pleasure. Then he brought a hand up to tangle in Doyle's hair and kissed him, fiercely, hungrily.

Doyle made a small wordless sound and, as Cordy watched, brought a hand up and slid it around the back of Angel's neck, holding him in place as he kissed him back.

She couldn't look away as the two men kissed -- it was something between desperation and passion, and she felt uncomfortable on a number of levels. If the situation hadn't been what it was, she would have left and given them privacy because it seemed wrong to be watching.

Angel's hands were all over Doyle, rubbing across his chest. His mouth left Doyle's and traveled back to the puncture wounds on his throat, but now he just licked and nuzzled at the sluggishly-bleeding marks.

Doyle moaned, the sound having nothing to do with pain, his hand clutching convulsively in Angel's hair.

Fumbling with the front of Doyle's shirt, Angel yanked it open, sacrificing another two buttons, and slipped his hand inside. He rose to his knees, bringing Doyle with him as their mouths met again, and his other hand moved down to Doyle's ass so that he could pull the smaller man flush against him.

Cordelia thought that this was starting to go a little bit too far. They weren't going to... were they? Doyle seemed to be into it as much as Angel was, which made her even more uncomfortable than she'd have been if he'd been fighting it. This way, she had no idea what to do. "Um... guys?"

Neither of them seemed to hear her, nor did either of them seem to be aware of anything outside of each other.

She felt left out, but pushed that feeling down and tried to concentrate on not staring at them, but the reality was, they looked good together. Great, actually. There was a tension spreading warmly through her and she moved a little bit further away and drew her knees up to her chin, watching quietly. Part of her wondered, briefly, if she should be worrying about the whole perfect happiness sex thing, but the rest of her knew there was basically no chance of perfect happiness in hell. Heck, knowing Angel these days, there was probably no chance of it no matter where he was.

Doyle and Angel were still kissing, moving against each other in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was.

Angel's other hand joined the first on Doyle's ass and Cordelia could hear him panting, something that almost never happened except for when he was fighting. Although she'd never watched him do this before. His tongue delved into Doyle's mouth forcefully and then he groaned.

The groan was echoed by Doyle as their movements grew more desperate and more unmistakable. And, Cordy had to admit, disturbingly hot.

Abruptly, Angel moved to one side, one leg on either side of Doyle's thigh as his lower body continued to thrust. His new position allowed him to slide his hand down to cup the front of Doyle's pants, and, with his palm pressed there firmly and his other hand still holding Doyle close to him, he moved his mouth back to Doyle's throat and sucked at the mark he'd made before.

Doyle cried out wordlessly, his body arching and shaking in pleasure.

Angel's hips thrust forward, his hand clutching Doyle's ass, and then he gave a low moan as his mouth worked convulsively at the puncture wound. He shuddered all over and the moan ended in something that sounded almost like a sob, his face buried in the curve of Doyle's shoulder as he trembled.

Cordy watched as Doyle slowly wrapped his arms around Angel in a comforting hug, murmuring something to the vampire too low for her to catch. He did look up at her, his eyes holding guilt and apology, worry and love.

She didn't know what to do or say. Then Angel choked out a muffled, "Sorry," and that one word held so much pain that she had to move closer. "It's okay," she told him, wrapping her own arm around him from the other side and meeting Doyle's gaze again uncertainly. From what she could tell he'd been a willing participant all the way, but she needed to know for sure. "Is it? Okay?"

"Cordy's right," Doyle said quietly, speaking to Angel though he kept his gaze squarely focused on her, face alight with gratitude. "It's okay, Angel. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I shouldn't... I can't..." Angel sat more upright and his face was human again. He shook his head. "We need to get out of here -- need to keep moving."

"Right. Except --" Doyle looked embarrassed. "I need to change pants."

"Oh my god," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes before she could restrain herself. "Do we have to _talk_ about it?"

"Don't need to talk about it, darlin'," Doyle said, reaching for their packs. "But I still need to change."

She wanted to wrap her arms around Doyle and not let go, and it looked like Angel felt the same way because he only backed off far enough to give Doyle the space he needed, his eyes watching him the whole time. "So where do we go?" she asked.

Angel looked at her briefly and then his eyes scanned the landscape. "That way," he said finally, gesturing.

"I'd ask if you recognize something, but there's nothing to recognize," Cordelia said. "So how do you know which way to go?"

"I... I just know," Angel answered helplessly.

"That's good enough for me," Doyle said optimistically as he rejoined them, having changed his clothes. He handed the one pack back to Cordy, taking the opportunity to give her a brief, one-armed hug. Seeming aggressively cheerful, he continued, "You're our guide, Angel. We trust you."

Cordelia wasn't sure she trusted him -- not entirely, not in his condition -- but she didn't think any good would come from saying so. "Let's get this show on the road." She slid her arms into the knapsack straps and looked expectantly at Angel.

Who was looking at Doyle with an expression on his face that said the other man was the only thing in the world to him, in that moment at least. An expression that said that he expected Doyle to lead, and he'd follow.

Some of Doyle's cheer faltered a little under the weight of the attention, but he quickly rallied, putting his own pack on and straightening. "Right," he said with determination. "The sooner we get moving, the sooner we'll get somewhere other than here."

"Right," Angel repeated. He seemed to shake himself, and nodded in the same direction he'd indicated before. "Come on." He started to walk.

Cordelia followed, a little bit behind both of them, less confident in their ability to get out than she'd been at any previous moment. She'd just have to keep her chin up and hope that Angel knew what he was doing.

God, she wanted to go home.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was hard walking. Despite the blood -- Doyle's blood -- running hot and fresh through his veins like a balm, Angel was tired. His head spun with the enormity of their situation. He kept coming back to why Doyle had come for him.

He asked again, even though earlier answers hadn't helped him understand. "Why would you come back? After you _knew_?"

Doyle looked at him speculatively for a long moment before answering. "Because what you're talking about isn't the truth." He paused then added, "Don't think it would matter even if it was. You don't deserve to be here any more than I would."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Angel said, without heat. "I do..." He trailed off as his brain finally made a little bit of sense out of the first thing Doyle had said. "What isn't the truth?"

Again Doyle looked at him searchingly before answering. "They lied to you. I wasn't here before."

"You weren't...?" Angel stopped walking. He didn't know what to think. "You weren't in Hell," he whispered finally. "Not just here here, but any Hell dimension at all."

"No," Doyle said softly. "I wasn't."

"Where were you? I mean, you were dead. You were... somewhere."

"Not that they gave out tour guide books or anything, but I think it was... heaven." He smiled a little self-consciously and gave a little shrug. "Who would have thought it, eh? Me, in heaven. Boggles the mind."

Angel didn't miss the way Cordelia moved closer to Doyle as he spoke, or the way she touched his arm gently, but he was too horrified for either of those things to really sink in. He felt cold. "No. No, of course, I should have thought... I should have realized."

"You weren't supposed to," Doyle said bluntly. He reached up and covered Cordy's hand with his own as he continued speaking. "They made sure the thought never even crossed your mind. They played you, man. They knew your weaknesses and went for them."

All of it for nothing. Doyle taken out of a good peaceful place, only to be brought back and forced into some guilt-ridden rescue mission. And all these months here, the seemingly endless torture in that fucking cell, never a kind word or touch or hope that it would ever change... Angel opened his mouth to say something, anything. Nothing came.

"Angel?" he heard Cordelia say, and her voice was warm and it soothed him, and it felt like he couldn't breathe, but that wasn't right because he didn't _need_ to breathe anymore, and...

Then Doyle was there, right in his face, a hand touching his cheek. "We've got you," he said, seeming to sense exactly the kind of reassurance Angel needed. "We're not letting you go. Stay with us, okay?"

He nodded, more at the tone than the words, and reached out to squeeze Doyle's shoulder. He wanted to feel that he was real, solid, that this wasn't a dream. There'd been other dreams before, and he'd always woken in complete despair, an echoing blankness that left him feeling small. "I'm with you," he said roughly.

Doyle rewarded him with a smile and a sort of half hug, and even when he pulled back, he kept one hand on Angel's arm, seeming to sense the vampire's need for contact. "I tell ya, Angel, I don't know whether to kiss you or kick your arse. To know that you'd willingly come here for me... it means a lot. But, if I had really been here, you probably could have come up with a way to rescue me without condemning yourself if you'd let Cordy and Wesley know what was going on."

"Yeah," Cordelia said, moving closer. "Don't you know I would have done anything -- well, almost anything -- to get Doyle back? Why didn't you _say_ something to me?"

"Because I thought you'd try to talk me out of it." It hadn't occurred to him that Wesley might have been able to find a different solution. He'd been doing an awful lot of feeling and not enough thinking, probably.

"Well, duh! Of course I would have." She crossed her arms and looked at him seriously. "You still should have told me."

"She's right," Doyle said, casting Cordelia an affectionate glance. "When we get out of here we're going to have a long talk about communicating. But for now the short version is: share."

"In a verbal way," Cordelia said. "Not necessarily in other ways." She gave Doyle a look that meant little to Angel, but something about her body language suddenly cleared up for him what had been going on -- the touches, the way their scents were all over each other.

"Right." Angel swallowed and took a step away from Doyle. He should have noticed sooner.

Doyle frowned, then looked at him thoughtfully. "Now would be a good time to start."

"Right. Um... start what?"

"Communicating."

Angel was frustrated and more than a little bit overwhelmed. "Well, ask me a question I can answer. Or tell me what you want me to talk about."

"How 'bout why you're pulling away all of a sudden?"

"What?"

Doyle moved to touch him and Angel was unable to keep from shying away. "That."

"Oh." Angel sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. He was remembering a whole bunch of stuff that he'd been trying to block out, the desire to have Doyle hold him and make the world go away wasn't fading, and he had no idea what to do about either of them. "I didn't realize... that the two of you were, you know. Together."

Cordelia stepped closer, and at least that felt okay -- before, her presence had made him want to cringe. "We found those pictures you drew," she said bluntly. "The ones of Doyle. The many, many pictures of Doyle."

Angel glanced involuntarily at Doyle; his friend was watching him with a strange expression. It couldn't be...yearning?

"Yeah," he said, knowing that he needed to explain but not knowing what to say. "Those were... um, I was just..." He stopped helplessly.

"Obsessing," Doyle finished the sentence for him.

_Madly, desperately in love with you,_ Angel corrected him silently, but nodded. "Yeah. Obsessing."

"Why didn't you say something?" Cordelia asked.

Angel shrugged at her apologetically, hearing the touch of sadness in her tone. "It wouldn't have done any good."

"I thought we were friends," she said, and turned away from both of them to face the bleak landscape.

Doyle stepped closer to Cordy, reaching out and touching her shoulder, turning her around. "We're more than friends," he said, glancing back and meeting Angel's eyes. "All of us. That makes it hard sometimes to admit... certain things."

Angel looked into those eyes, seeing the wisdom he'd instinctively grasped onto, the wisdom that Doyle could apply to everyone but himself, and nodded, slowly. "Like how we feel about each other."

"Yeah." He reached out a hand to Angel. "Though you think maybe, considering everything, we should try to say it regardless?"

Angel nodded again and took Doyle's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Cordelia?" She wouldn't look at him. "Cordy? I'm sorry. You're right, I should have told you. That I, you know, care about Doyle. That I... love him." He was afraid to look at Doyle for his reaction to that so he kept looking at Cordelia.

She did turn her face toward him then, and her eyes were bright. "I know. I mean, I didn't know, but now I do. I love him, too. So what the hell do we do about that?"

"Well, I think you're both nuts," Doyle said, obviously trying to keep his tone light, but the tremor in his voice gave away his emotions. "But I hope you don't expect me to choose, because there's nothing to choose between the way I feel for both of you."

Cordelia turned and kissed Doyle, her hands on his face. Through it he didn't let go of his grip on Angel's hand, but his free one came up and tangled in Cordy's hair, and god they looked good together. It made Angel ache to watch them.

"There isn't a choice to make," he said when they'd parted. "You two belong together."

Doyle turned to look at him, eyes blazing, looking magnificent in his sudden anger. "So I'm just suppose t'forget how I feel about you? Let you go, knowing that I've given you one more thing to brood in the dark about?" His grip on Angel's hand tightened, like he was afraid if he let go Angel would slip away fully from him.

"Look, Doyle," Angel said, trying to sound reasonable. "This isn't the time to worry about it. Let's just get out of here, and later we can deal with, you know, the rest of it."

Doyle looked at him, glanced at Cordy, then moved closer, kissing him with all the same depth of feeling he'd shown with Cordelia.

His first thought was that he should push Doyle away, but their hands were still clasped and Doyle's lips were on his -- again, but it felt like the first time -- and it was pretty much all he could do not to grab on to Doyle and never, ever let him go. When the kiss finally ended Angel could feel tears in his eyes. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"That we'll find a way," Doyle replied, his voice intense, his gaze holding Angel's and willing him to believe. "That you're not going to give up on me -- though I guess the fact I'm even here talking to you is proof you don't give up on me easily." A ghost of a smile passed over his lips and he squeezed Angel's hand affectionately. "But do me a favour and don't give up on _us_ either, okay?"

"Okay," Angel said. "I won't." He made a valiant effort and reached out for Cordelia's hand, the one that wasn't holding Doyle's. It formed them into a little circle, and Angel felt like an idiot, but he tugged Cordy closer and bent to kiss her cheek.

At the same time, Cordy turned her face toward him, and as a result the kiss landed awkwardly, half on her mouth. "Thanks," Angel said, curling his fingers around hers gently. "For, you know, coming to get me out. It's... it means a lot."

Cordelia smiled crookedly. "Yeah, well... not like we were going to leave you here, you big moron."

Doyle grinned affectionately at her. "You gotta love a woman who speaks her mind."

"Among other things," Angel said, and gave a quick squeeze before dropping both of their hands and turning slightly to examine the landscape. Or lack of landscape. For some reason, he could still feel that pull that told him to keep going in the direction they'd been traveling, even though he shouldn't have been able to _tell_ which direction they'd been traveling in. "Let's keep moving. It doesn't feel... right, to be staying in one spot."

"Right," Doyle said, suddenly all business. But he kept close to Angel's side as they resumed walking, close enough that their arms bumped occasionally.

Still caught up in wondering how he knew what he seemed to know, Angel muttered, "This doesn't make any sense." He glanced over to make sure Cordelia was close by, and she was walking on Doyle's other side, seeming to understand that she'd be safer that way.

"That's about normal for us," Doyle quipped, then more seriously, more sympathetically asked, "What doesn't make sense?"

Angel gestured in the direction they were headed. "This. Me knowing where to go. Or thinking I do. What if we're going the wrong way?"

"Then I'm gonna kick your ass," Cordelia said flatly.

"You know where to go because you're supposed to know where to go," Doyle told him. "Remember, there's more than one side in this. I'm sure the Powers aren't happy with anything messing with the natural order of things."

"Natural order?" Cordelia echoed. "There's nothing _natural_ about any of this."

"No, I think he's right," Angel said. "When you think about it that way..."

Doyle nodded. "That ksh'yyk demon yanked me out of heaven. That's the kind of thing that pisses the Powers off." He grinned. "Bringing me back may just be the worst mistake he's ever made."

"Yeah, it is," Angel said, without humor, unconsciously pressing his hand over the still-aching wound in his side. "And trust me when I say I'm gonna make sure he regrets it."

" _We're_ going to," Doyle corrected, and he slid a supporting arm around Angel's waist, making the move seem casual.

"Darn right we are," Cordelia said, appearing at Angel's other side. She didn't try to help support him, but her presence was reassuring anyway. "When we get done with him, he's not going to know what hit him."

"Actually, I think the point is that we make sure he doesn't forget what's hit him." Doyle grinned wolfishly. "Or who."

"Unless we hit him so hard he doesn't remember anything." Cordelia narrowed her eyes at the horizon, and then asked Angel, "Are you _sure_ you know where we're going?"

"No," Angel said. "I have no idea where we're going. I just know it's the right way."

"So we're following it. We're on the right path." Doyle nodded decisively. "Everything's going according to plan."

"Some twisted psychotic's idea of a plan," Cordelia said. "We can't get out of here fast enough for me."

As they kept walking, Angel couldn't help but think that they couldn't get out there fast enough for any of them -- his only options as far as blood went were the people walking on either side of him, and he was going to need blood faster than they could supply it.

They were already running out of time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

One of the worse things about this place, Doyle thought as they trudged along, was the silence.

There was no ambient noise, no sounds of life -- animals or otherwise, not even any wind or other weather noise. So the only sounds came from them: the soft scuffs of their footsteps and the even softer sounds of his and Cordy's breathing.

And the very, very loud silence that was none of them speaking.

Cordy was stubborn, he knew. Determined to keep moving, and maybe determined not to complain since she'd been the one to sneak herself along for the ride in the first place. Angel was... well, he was better, but there was still a long way back for the vampire to travel, and he was thinking most of it was emotionally. He kept glancing at Doyle, never letting more than a very brief amount of time pass before checking to see that he was still there.

And Doyle himself was still reeling from the earlier conversation and the twin declarations of love. Not that he hadn't -- obviously -- figured out that both Cordy and Angel cared for him, but hearing them actually _say_ it...

To his right, on the other side of Cordelia, Angel sighed. It was so quiet that Doyle barely heard it, but when he looked over at Angel, the vampire looked tense. Worried.

"Something up?" Doyle asked, as much to break the hellish silence as anything else.

Angel looked over at him. "No? Um, no."

"You're not sounding too sure there."

"Yeah," Angel said. "That's the problem. I'm just..." He stopped walking, his arms at his sides. "What if we're going the wrong way?"

"We'd better not be going the wrong way," Cordelia interjected, stopping too. "We've been walking in this direction for hours."

Angel glanced at her apologetically. "I know. I mean... it feels like the right way. But then I look in another direction -- and everything looks the same, and I think, 'What if we're supposed to be going that way?'" He gestured to the left slightly.

Doyle looked in the direction that Angel pointed; nothing looked any different than any other direction. "Does it feel like we're supposed to go that way?" he asked bluntly.

"Well, no. But -- "

"But nothing." Doyle moved over and took hold of Angel's hands to make sure the vampire was paying attention. "The only thing we've got right now to go on is your feelings. The last thing we need is for you to start second guessing them. Trust yourself. We trust you."

"Unless you don't trust yourself," Cordelia added. "In which case, trust Doyle. If he thinks you know what you're doing, somehow... then I say we go with it."

Angel nodded, giving Doyle's hands a quick squeeze before dropping them and looking back the way they'd come. "Yeah," he said, pointing again in the direction they'd been traveling. "Yeah. This way."

Doyle gave him an encouraging smile. "Better than a compass."

"Only if where we're going is better than north," Angel said, as they started walking again.

Cordelia opened her knapsack and took out a bottle of water, taking a careful swallow before offering it to Doyle.

"Thanks," he said, taking it. But he didn't do much more than wet his lips; his demon heritage meant he could survive on less than Cordelia.

"You have to actually drink that, you know," Angel said.

Stupid vampire senses. Doyle did his best to bluff, giving Angel his best 'I have no idea what you're talking about' look.

Angel's returned look was almost incredulous. "What was that, two drops? You might be half-demon, but you still have to replace fluids, Doyle, especially since you, you know..." The vampire seemed reluctant to talk about having fed from Doyle.

The conversation was causing Cordy to stare at him in that 'don't be stupid' way she had so perfected as well. Not really wanting to face their combined wrath, Doyle gave in with a sigh and deliberately took a full swallow. "There. Happy?"

"I won't be happy until we're out of here. But yeah, that's better." Angel looked at Cordy. "You should have some more too. I know you want to ration it, but don't get carried away."

She took the bottle when Doyle handed it back to her and drank another sip or two, then recapped it and tucked it carefully back into her knapsack. "There's got to be water around here someplace, right? I mean, stuff can't live without water."

"Nothing actually seems to be living round here," Doyle pointed out before he thought about it.

"No, there were those funny little scrubby bushes a couple of hours ago!" Cordelia protested. "And... um... okay, maybe that's all."

"We'll manage, Princess," Doyle reassured with all the confidence he could put into his voice. "We always do."

She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, those bushes were getting water from somewhere, so there must be some. We just have to find it." She looked at Angel. "You can smell water, right?"

"Probably," Angel said. "I think if I smelled anything different at this point, it'd be noticeable."

"Compass and divining rod." Doyle clapped a hand to Angel's shoulder. "You're a man of many talents."

"You don't know the half of it," Angel said, then glanced at them both a bit apologetically as if he'd spoken before he thought.

Doyle smiled and said, "You'll just have to demonstrate some of them, then." The flirting came easy and without thought, just as easily as it came with Cordelia.

Angel's returned smile was shy, and he must have felt the need to change the subject because he asked, "You both doing okay? Cordy?"

She nodded and sighed and kept walking. "I think we could market this as, like, a fitness program. Get fit, lose weight. We could charge a lot of money. It's like boot camp. Or survivalist school, or something."

They continued on for another forty minutes or so, then Cordelia, who was a little bit ahead of them, straightened, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked in the direction they'd been walking.

"Is that water?" she asked.

Doyle looked, but didn't see anything. "Where?"

"There." Cordelia pointed.

"I don't see anything," Angel said, and there was something in his tone that was a warning.

"Well then you're both blind," Cordelia snapped. "It's right there." She started walking more quickly, and Doyle and Angel both sped up, too, trying to catch up with her.

"There's nothing there, Princess," Doyle said, worried now as he and Angel came up on either side of her. There wasn't. There was nothing ahead of them but more barren landscape; maybe she was dehydrated enough that she was seeing things?

"I can't smell anything, either," Angel said. His big hand reached out and caught Cordelia's upper arm, stopping her. She turned and glared at him.

"Angel, knock it off!" Cordelia snapped, and Angel jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned, recoiling to the point where Doyle moved instinctively to comfort him with a gentle touch as Cordelia started walking forward again. "It's right there!" she repeated. "I can't believe you idiots are so stubborn."

Doyle rubbed Angel's arm. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "What's going on? You don't see anything, do you?"

Shaking his head, Doyle followed after Cordelia again. She had just stopped and crouched down and was swishing her hand through the air just above the hard-packed earth.

Doyle's level of worry skyrocketed. "Cordy?"

"It's cool," she said, turning to look over her shoulder at them. "Can you tell if it's okay to drink?" The question was clearly directed toward Angel.

"In general, I wouldn't recommend drinking sand," Angel said, as Doyle reached down to brush back Cordelia's hair.

His fingertips brushed the edge of her ear and, just for a second, he saw shimmering clear water stretched out in front of them, a pool of it about the size of a swimming hole.

Doyle yelped in surprise and jerked backward involuntarily, losing contact with Cordelia and his ability to see the... whatever the hell it was, mirage, illusion... at the same time.

"What?" Angel said, steadying him. "Doyle?"

"What the hell was that?" he said. "I touched her and I saw... something." Doyle reached out more cautiously this time, with Angel putting a hand on Cordelia's other shoulder.

"Would you guys stop screwing around and tell me if this stuff is okay to drink?" Cordelia said, as Doyle blinked at the sight of the water appearing again.

"Can you see it?" Doyle asked Angel, and Angel nodded. "So, the question is, is it really there, or is it some kind of..."

"Shared hallucination?" Angel suggested.

"You can tell if it's okay, right?" Cordelia said, looking at Angel.

Angel frowned. "I can't even tell if it's real."

She looked exasperated. "What do you mean, if it's real?"

"Princess," Doyle said, rubbing his thumb along her arm and squeezing a little bit to get her attention. Cordelia met his gaze. "We can't see it unless we're touching you."

"Are you serious?" She moved her hand through the water, and it rippled as convincingly as if it were real. Doyle wondered if it were some sort of force field. Some kind of invisibility cloak?

"Completely." Something further out in the water caught his attention -- a flicker of something large and dark, like a fin, broke the surface for an instant, then was gone; Cordelia had been looking at him and couldn't have seen it. "Angel, did you see that?"

"See what?" Angel asked.

"It's starting to sound like an echo chamber in here," Doyle muttered, keeping his hand on Cordy's arm and watching the water intently. "Out there. Something big."

"In the water?" Angel didn't move his hand from Cordelia's other shoulder, but he straightened up a little bit. "I don't like this."

"I just thought it would be a good idea to fill the water bottles," Cordelia said. "Anyway, it's got to be shallow here, right? It's not like big fish are going to --" She shrieked as a tentacle as big around as a garden hose wrapped itself around her wrist and yanked her toward the water, right out of Doyle's grasp, half-blinding him to what was going on in the process. He couldn't see the water _or_ the tentacle, and Cordelia's hand had vanished where it hit the surface of the now-invisible water.

Angel, thank God, had better reflexes, and managed to get an arm around her waist, hanging on grimly as the giant octopus thing, or whatever it was, dragged him forward.

Doyle didn't know whose name to shout -- instead, he lurched forward and grabbed onto both of them. Touching Cordelia made the water shimmer into view again, along with her hand and the tentacle twined around her arm. She swatted at the tentacle with her other hand. "Get it off!"

"I'm trying," Angel said tightly, pulling at the end of it, trying to uncurl it from around her wrist. "I can't -- Doyle -- "

The creature dragged them further into the water.

"Hold onto her," Angel growled. He went into game face with a quick shake of his head; Doyle could see the muscles in his forearms straining as he doubled his efforts.

There was a violent jerk and suddenly Doyle found himself in water up to mid-calf, his jeans clinging to his legs in heavy folds of wet denim. He got one arm around Cordelia's waist and twisted his other hand into the waistband of her slacks. She made an involuntary sound of pain as the octopus-thing jerked at them again, her arm stretched to its limits. "This place... _sucks_ ," she gasped, and Doyle would have laughed if another tentacle hadn't whipped up out of the water and wrapped itself around her upper thigh.

"Hang on," he told her. "We've got you." Desperate now, he fumbled his hand into the knapsack on Cordelia's back, searching for the knife he knew was in there, and felt a hot rush of relief when his fingers closed around the handle. It was sheathed, of course, but he flicked the snap undone with his thumb and held it out toward Angel. "Angel!"

The vampire blinked, glanced at what he was offering, and after that everything happened very quickly. The knife was in Angel's hand, the blade slicing through the air; a hot gout of blackish blood spouted and Cordelia was free, the tentacles withdrawing almost as fast as they'd appeared.

"Go," Angel said, and shoved them toward the shore. Doyle stumbled, caught his balance, and obeyed, dragging Cordelia with him.

Angel was right behind them -- but not touching Cordelia, which meant he couldn't see -- and Doyle flung a hand back toward him. Angel's fingers closed around his, and then they were on solid ground again. Both Doyle and Cordelia were gasping for air, and Doyle's heart was pounding so furiously in his chest that it almost hurt.

"Let's get as far away as we can, yeah?" he asked, and Cordelia nodded wordlessly.

They walked for a good five minutes before Cordelia shook her head and sank down onto the ground. Doyle went to his knees beside her, hands shaking as it hit him how close they'd just come to disaster. "Cordy?"

"I'm okay," she said. Her voice was shaking, too, as he reached for her hand so he could check her wrist. "Angel?"

"I'm fine." Angel crouched down, the pale skin of his chest and shoulders glowing in the strange light. He didn't say anything else as Doyle inspected Cordelia's wrist, which was bruised and swelling but didn't seem to be broken or sprained.

"Probably ought to wrap this up," Doyle said, glancing at her drawn face.

She pulled back. "It'll be okay."

"What about your leg?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Cordelia insisted, but her teeth were chattering.

She was, Doyle noted as he pulled her into an awkward embrace, more wet than he was, but he thought this reaction was more shock than anything else. "Shh. It's okay." He felt Angel's hand on his shoulder, comforting.

"Stupid squid," Cordelia muttered against the side of his neck, and he grinned.

"Stupid to mess with the three of us," Doyle agreed. He pulled back, brushing her hair out of her face and kissing her before looking at Angel, whose expression was hard to read. "Maybe we should take a break for a little while?"

"Maybe next time we say something's not right you ought to listen to us," Angel said to Cordy.

"I was the one telling you there was water there and you didn't _believe_ me," Cordelia said, but something about the way Angel was looking at her must have gotten through, because she flushed. "Okay, fine. You're right. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Angel relaxed and reached out a hand, brushing his fingertips over her cheek. "Yeah," he said. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, okay? To any of us."

"Amen to that," Doyle said.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They ended up walking for another hour before they found a good place to settle down and take a real rest. At first, after the whole thing with the freaky hell squid, Cordelia had felt shaky, full of adrenaline, but then it had settled down into something more like exhaustion. When they found a small group of the same funky, twisted tree-things that provided at least an illusion of protection, she was so relieved she considered crying.

Only for about two seconds, and she wouldn't have admitted it, but yeah.

Angel was walking under his own power again, and Doyle looked better than he had, so that was something else to be thankful for.

Cordelia set her knapsack on the ground and crouched beside it, digging through it until she found the change of clothes she'd brought. The stuff she was wearing was at least half dry by now, but the front of her top was spattered with black squid blood and it was smelling pretty rank. She straightened up, holding the clean top, and realized that they were lacking a changing room. "Um..."

"I can turn around," Angel offered, gesturing in that kind of sweet, kind of dorky way that he had, and she smiled.

"Thanks," she said. "Just for a second."

Doyle was taking everything out of his knapsack and spreading it out, probably taking note of what they had -- again.

Cordelia quickly stripped off her top and yanked the new one over her head, then said, "Okay," to Angel and knelt down next to Doyle. She dragged her own knapsack over as Angel joined them. "Are we looking for something?" she asked.

"I just want to make sure I know what we've got," Doyle said.

"Because we didn't go over it twenty times before we left?" Cordelia asked, but she dumped out her knapsack anyway.

Picking up his already-dirty shirt, Doyle looked at it ruefully. "Wish I had something that'd fit you," he said to Angel.

"It doesn't matter," Angel said. Cordelia looked over at him and couldn't help but think admiring thoughts about his broad shoulders and muscled upper arms. Of course, he'd look better if he wasn't covered with healing cuts and bruises.

Doyle balled the shirt up and offered it to Angel. "It'd make a decent pillow, at least."

"Thanks." Angel took it, and Doyle went back to lining up the food, bottled water, and first aid supplies they had.

"You look like you could use some sleep, Princess," Doyle said.

Cordelia gave him a look. "That's the nice way of saying I look old, isn't it."

"Old? You?" Doyle shook his head and smiled at her admiringly, in the way that made her feel warm and appreciated. "You don't look a day over sixteen."

"So you're a cradle robber?"

"Only if you Americans use cradles for something wholly different than we do," Doyle said, and touched her hand. "Go on, my love. Lie down and close your eyes for a while."

"I'll keep watch," Angel said. "Why don't you both get some sleep?"

"You need it more than I do," Doyle said.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "That's debatable. We can take turns, okay?"

Somehow, though, they all ended up sleeping, with Doyle in the middle between Cordelia and Angel. When Cordelia woke up, Angel's arm was slung over Doyle's hip, his hand resting at her waist protectively. She blinked and yawned, looking around without moving too much because she didn't want to wake Doyle, who was sleeping peacefully. Everything was quiet, though, which made her feel better.

Angel was asleep, too, but he wasn't peaceful. She could feel his fingers twitching against her side as he dreamed, restless. She didn't let herself think about what he must have gone through -- it would have been too depressing. When he made a little sound, a scared sound, she rolled away from Doyle carefully and went around to his other side, putting a hand on Angel's shoulder and shaking him gently.

"Angel," she whispered. "It's okay. It's not -- it's me, Cordy." She was hoping she'd keep him from waking up Doyle, who needed the sleep, but when Angel opened his eyes and sat up, terrified, grabbing onto her, she wondered for a heart-rending second if she should have thought a little bit more before acting.

But Angel relaxed, his hand on her arm gentling. "Cordelia."

"Uh-huh. You were dreaming. Or, you know, nightmaring." She patted his hand.

"I should have been awake." He sounded guilty.

"Maybe," Cordelia said. "But everything's okay."

"It won't be okay until we get out of here." Angel grimaced and pressed his hand to his side where the bandage was, then looked at Doyle, sleeping with his new leather jacket balled up under his head.

Cordelia touched him to get his attention again, and he flinched. "Sorry," she said softly. "Can I look at that?" She gestured at his side.

"Okay."

They moved a little bit away, and Cordelia peeled back the tape on the bandage to check out the wound. It looked better than it had, but from the way it was obviously still hurting Angel it was probably deeper than it looked. "I don't know what else to do for it," she said, bending lower and touching the more normal skin around the healing cut. "Any ideas?"

Angel shook his head. "It's healing," he said. "Maybe not as fast as it could be, but it's getting better. You don't have to put another bandage on it," he added as Cordelia reached for her knapsack. "It's not like I'm going to get an infection."

"That doesn't mean I want to look at it," Cordelia said. She put fresh gauze over the wound and taped it on, smoothing the edges of the tape gently to make sure it would stick. When she looked up, Angel was looking down at her, their faces surprisingly close.

"Thanks," Angel said hoarsely, and she nodded and swallowed.

"No problem."

"What's no problem?" Doyle's voice asked, and they both turned.

"Patching him up," Cordelia said. "We were trying to let you sleep."

"There'll be enough time to sleep when we're out of here," Doyle told her, then yawned and looked a bit sheepish. "Not that I don't appreciate the thought."

"We should get moving again," Angel said. He stood up and studied the landscape, if you could even call it that considering there was nothing much to see in any direction.

Sighing, Cordelia packed up her things and they started walking again.

Four hours later, they were still walking, she was getting a blister on her heel, and she was pretty sure that walking long enough could put you into a waking coma. Her brain wasn't even working anymore -- she was in a daze, unable to think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other, just like that penguin in that animated Santa Claus movie.

"Someone talk to me," she said.

Doyle, who was on her right, gave her an amused look. "Talk about what?"

"I don't care," Cordelia said. "Anything. Otherwise I'm going to be sleepwalking here, only in reverse."

"You're going to walk backwards?" Angel asked. He was on her left.

"No, I mean... usually you fall asleep, _then_ you sleepwalk. This would be the other way around."

Angel seemed to consider this. "I don't think it works that way."

"I don't care," Cordelia told him. "Seriously, I'm in danger of dying of boredom."

"I spy, with my little eye," Doyle started, and she gave him a dirty look. "What? This is the kind of thing 'I Spy' was invented for."

"Walking through hell dimensions?" Cordelia said. "I don't think so."

"What do you want to talk about?" Angel asked.

She shrugged.

Walking a little more quickly, Doyle got ahead of her, turned, and glanced at Angel, then took a deep breath and started to sing. "Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling..."

Angel looked pained. Or maybe constipated. It was kind of hard to tell with vampires. "I don't sing," he said.

"It's _Danny Boy_ ," Doyle said disbelievingly. "You can't be Irish and not sing 'Danny Boy.'"

"I'm pretty sure you can," Angel said. "I'm living proof." He glanced down at himself. "Close enough."

"You can't leave me to sing it on my own," Doyle said.

"There could be the thing where neither of you sings it," Cordelia said, not really hoping.

Doyle was still walking backwards; he started again. "Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling..." He gestured at Angel.

"From glen to glen, and down the mountainside..." Angel _so_ shouldn't be singing, Cordelia thought, and yet there he was. It wasn't pretty.

Together, Doyle and Angel sang the next line. "The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying." It sounded more like a dying cat than dying flowers. "'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide." A dying cat being run over by a bicycle.

"You Irish sure know how to write an uplifting song," Cordelia muttered, wishing she'd never suggested any of this. Not that she'd suggested the singing part.

It turned out, though, that Angel gave up halfway through, leaving Doyle to finish on his own. He didn't sound as bad as Angel, Cordelia admitted to herself grudgingly. He wouldn't win any competitions or anything, but he sounded okay. He _did_ give Angel what looked like a fake glare. "Thanks for abandoning me," he said.

"I figured I was doing you a favor," Angel told him.

Doyle was walking face-forward again, at least. "Doing me a favor'd be singing with me instead of leaving me to drown on my own."

Cordelia cleared her throat. "Hello? Person who was almost drowned by a giant squid walking right beside you."

"Sorry," Doyle said, giving her what did look like an apologetic glance. "That was meant to be a metaphor."

"I don't need to breathe," Angel pointed out. "So you'd be drowning on your own either way."

"And thank you for that, too," Doyle said.

"Why did I think talking was a good idea?" Cordelia asked no one in particular, but when Doyle reached out and took her hand, she didn't pull away.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When they were too tired to walk anymore, they stopped to sleep. Cordelia was asleep almost immediately, her head pillowed on her arm. Doyle couldn't stop thinking that he should have kept her from coming, that she should have been safe at home. If anything happened to her, he'd never be able to forgive himself.

"She's cold," Angel said, gesturing at her, and Doyle looked down to see she was shivering.

"Yeah, you're right." He lay beside her and put an arm around her; even in her sleep, she moved closer to his warmth, tucking her face in against his shoulder. "Come help me," he said softly to Angel.

"I don't have any body heat," Angel protested, but he lay down on Cordelia's other side anyway.

"Thanks," Doyle said. When Angel frowned, he added, "For helping me take care of her."

"I have to," Angel said. "She's my responsibility. You both are."

Doyle wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "I hope that's not the only reason."

Looking down at Cordelia's shoulder, Angel shook his head slightly. "No." It seemed like he might say more, so Doyle waited. Finally, Angel's eyes lifted and met his again. "I love you."

"So you've said." Doyle smiled encouragingly.

"Both of you," Angel said, and Cordelia sat up, eyes wide.

"You _what_?!" she shouted.

Angel backed off, looking miserable.

"Say that again!" Cordelia demanded.

"Are you going to hit me?" Angel asked. "Because if you're going to hit me, I'm not saying it again."

"She's not going to hit you," Doyle said, giving Cordy a look. "Are you, Princess?"

"Well, that depends on why you haven't told me before!" Cordelia was angry and confused and maybe, underneath it all, hopeful, Doyle thought. "Is it true?"

Angel nodded.

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.

"I don't know," Angel said. "It just kind of... crept up on me. But don't... don't worry."

"Don't _worry_?" Cordelia said. "God, sometimes you can be such a moron." And she leaned forward and kissed him.

When she pulled back, Angel looked stunned. "Is that... You just... you kissed me."

"Gee, you think?" Cordelia grinned at Doyle. "Maybe he's not as stupid as we thought."

" _I_ never thought he was stupid," Doyle said loyally.

"Well, now that that's settled, could we lie back down like before?" Cordelia asked. "Because I was kind of liking being in the middle."

"I think we can manage that," Doyle told her, and the three of them settled into the positions they'd been in before. Of course, with Cordy smiling and pressed up against him, it was no surprise Doyle's body responded, although he _was_ a bit surprised when Cordelia slid a hand down between them and touched his growing erection.

Surprise was forgotten when she kissed him -- it was too easy to get lost in the taste of her sweet mouth.

Behind her, Angel said, hesitantly, "Do you want me to --"

"Stay," Cordelia said, turning her head to look at him. "We want you to stay." She tugged at Angel's arm until it was around her, then curled his hand around her breast. "Be with us."

Angel didn't move for a few, very long seconds; then he caressed her breast and Cordelia inhaled with pleasure. "You like that?" Angel asked.

"Yes. Don't stop." Cordelia kissed Doyle again, her lips parting and letting his tongue in.

Doyle put his own hand over Angel's, feeling it as Angel squeezed Cordy's full breast and thumbed her nipple, feeling her gasps against his own mouth. "Let's get this out of the way," he murmured, pushing her top upward, and between them he and Angel got her top off and her bra unfastened. "God, Princess, you're so gorgeous." Her skin seemed to glow in the fading light, her nipples dark as he lowered his mouth to one and suckled it gently.

Cordelia made small sounds of pleasure, then a louder one as Angel undid her pants and slid his hand down inside them. "God! Oh, that's good. That's so..."

The back of Angel's wrist rubbed against Doyle's erection and Doyle moaned softly at Cordelia's breast. "Jesus, Angel."

"Feeling neglected?" Angel asked, and abandoned Cordelia to unzip Doyle's pants and pull out his cock, stroking it.

"I can do that," Cordelia said. Her smaller -- but no less talented -- hand took over, and somehow without interrupting Angel rolled Cordelia onto her back and applied his mouth to her left breast, pressing kisses around the nipple until she shuddered and rocked her hips. "Don't tease."

"No?" Angel shifted his weight up onto his elbow and kissed her deeply, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and finger. Doyle moaned again and reached for Angel's waistband. It was a little bit awkward, but he managed to get his hand around Angel's cock. He could feel Angel trembling as he traced the sensitive head with gentle fingertips, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to have Angel's cock between his lips, hard, sliding over his tongue. His mouth watered and he sat up, shoving impatiently at Angel's pants to get them down over his hips.

"What are you -- oh," Cordelia said, and sat up to help, gasping as Angel's hand slid back down into her panties. "Angel, that's not -- oh God -- that's very distracting."

"Good," Angel said. Then his head tipped back as Doyle licked the head of his cock, tasting salt. "God, Doyle."

Doyle took Angel deep into his throat, sucking, and Angel cried out. Cordelia muffled the sound somehow -- with her mouth, from the noises they were making -- as Doyle focused on worshiping Angel's body as best he could, up on his knees with his own erection sticking out through the front of his undone trousers. Cordy was making the little, rhythmic gasps that meant Angel was stroking her clit, taking her closer to the edge.

" _Please_ ," she said desperately. "God, Angel, please, I need -- I need --"

Pulling his mouth away, Doyle said, "Here -- I think I know what you need." With quick, efficient movements, he divested Cordelia of the rest of her clothes and rolled her onto her back again, kissing her and tugging at Angel at the same time. "You want him inside you?" he murmured against Cordy's lips. "Is that what you need?"

She made an eager, affirmative sound and then arched her body as Angel pushed into her, both of them groaning loudly. Jesus, they looked good together, Cordy's skin flushed and Angel's pale. He pushed her legs up toward her body and thrust into her, and when his cock slid back out it was slick and shiny, covered with her juices.

"Jesus," Doyle said. "Jesus." He reached out unthinkingly and got a hand between them, one fingertip pressing over Cordelia's clit. She moaned and opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him. Angel thrust into her again and her mouth opened soundlessly. Doyle rubbed her clit and wrapped his other hand around his own cock, jerking off fast and furious. It didn't take long; when Cordy shuddered and cried out, tensing under Angel as she came, Doyle came, too, slicking his hand with it. He was still panting when Angel groaned out his own release, arms braced on either side of Cordy and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Wow," Cordelia said. She slid a hand down along Angel's chest and hummed slightly. "That was nice." Reaching out, she touched Doyle's wrist and then his spent cock, which gave a tired twitch at the contact. "Come here."

The three of them collapsed in pretty much the same position they'd been before they started, with Cordy in the middle. For a while, they all lay there, then Angel said, "One of us should be keeping an eye out." He got up and started putting his pants back on.

"Yeah," Doyle said with a sigh, and did the same.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They walked for two more days, and at no point did any of them bring up the fact that they'd had sex together.

Angel had suggested several times that maybe they should re-think this, that they could be walking in the wrong direction for all he knew, but Doyle stubbornly clung to the idea that he knew where he was taking them.

The problem was, they were out of food, they were almost out of water, and Angel could feel his own hunger pushing the boundaries of his self-control.

"Let's take a break," Doyle said, which meant that he thought Cordelia needed one.

She didn't look as exhausted as Doyle did by half, Angel thought as they stopped and sat down. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd been able to refuse feeding from Doyle when it'd been offered. At least Doyle hadn't offered again.

"You should get some sleep," Cordelia told Doyle, tugging at him until he leaned over and rested his head on her thigh.

"We all should," Doyle said. "Angel? Come on, man."

"Come on where?" Angel asked, but moved closer. "We need to talk."

Cordelia gave him a doubtful look. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she'd lost weight. "Not to be Ms. Negative, but conversations that start out like that rarely end well."

"This isn't working," Angel said bluntly. "We need to try something else."

"Like what?" Doyle asked. He tilted his head on Cordelia's lap so he could see Angel's face. "It's not like we've got a lot of options here. Unless you're seeing something we aren't?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "But we're not getting anywhere. There has to be something we're missing."

"I hate to suggest it -- again -- but now would be a good time for The Powers That Be to hit me with a vision." Cordelia's fingers stroked Doyle's hair absently, like she wasn't aware she was doing it. "Or we could try that wizard of Oz thing."

"Oz is a wizard?" Angel asked, confused.

"The movie, dummy," Cordelia said. "You know -- there's no place like home? With the ruby slippers?"

"Oh. Right." Looking off into the distance, Angel blinked, then blinked again. Was that...? He stood up, squinting.

Doyle said, "Angel?"

"I think I see something," Angel said.

"You _think_ you see something, or you _do_ see something?" Cordelia asked.

"I do." He wasn't sure what it was, but there was definitely something out there breaking up the endless monotony of the landscape.

Doyle was standing beside him suddenly. "Definitely something," he agreed.

"Then let's get going," Cordelia said. "I don't know about you guys, but I have pretty much zero interest in staying in this place a second longer than I have to."

It took more than an hour of walking before they were close enough to see that it was some sort of structure made of stone. It looked, Angel thought, kind of like the place he'd spent the last however many months in. And even _that_ thought was enough to make him hunch his shoulders.

A hand touched his arm and he flinched away.

"Easy," Doyle said.

"Sorry," Angel said.

"Don't be sorry. I should have made sure not to startle you like that." Doyle was all sympathy, and instead of being upset or angry, Angel wanted to cling to him, to inhale his scent and reassure himself that he wasn't back in that cell, cold and alone and knowing that it was never, ever going to end. "Talk to us. What're you thinking?"

Angel gave him a doubtful look. "You don't want to know."

"That's just your way of saying you don't want to tell us," Cordelia pointed out.

"No, it's my way of saying you don't want to know," Angel said, trying not to lose his patience.

Doyle stopped him; his hand on Angel's elbow felt warm. "And we're saying we _do_." His eyes were impossibly gentle, and Angel wished he could fall into them and let everything else cease to exist. "You've got to trust us."

"It doesn't have anything to do with trust," Angel said. "I'm trying to protect you."

"Because we're so weak and helpless?" Cordelia asked. She was close by now, too, and she looked every bit as concerned as Doyle did. "You know we're not. We can take it."

"Telling you isn't going to _change_ anything," Angel said.

"How do you know that if you won't do it?" Doyle challenged him.

"Um... guys?" Cordelia sounded distracted.

Angel was too busy arguing with Doyle to turn his attention to her. "Because I _know_. You think I haven't been through this before?"

"Guys?" Cordelia said.

Doyle had that determined look in his eyes that Angel couldn't help but be drawn to, even when it irritated him. "I know you've been through it before, and I hate that you have. What I want is for you to let some of it before it eats away at you."

Sharply, Cordelia said, " _Guys_!"

Both turning to her at the same time, Angel and Doyle chorused, " _What_?"

"Look," Cordelia said simply, and pointed to the ground on their left, where a series of shuffled footprints led in a line toward and away from the structure.

It took a few seconds for Angel to figure out what he was seeing.

"No," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Three sets of footprints. "No, no."

"Angel," Doyle said.

They'd been walking in circles. Or maybe just one circle, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were right back where they'd started. He'd led them all that way for nothing, they were out of supplies, and they weren't any closer to getting out of here than they'd been before. "No," Angel said again. It felt like all the strength had bled out of him; the world around him spun dizzingly and he sank to his knees, trembling.

Warm hands were on his face, lifting it. He could hear something -- knew it was Doyle talking to him -- but it didn't make any sense. He couldn't make any sense of it.

He couldn't make sense of anything.

The next thing he knew, his head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging and the taste of blood sharp at the corner of his mouth. Instinctively, Angel put a hand out and grabbed onto Doyle's wrist before he could hit him again.

"Angel?"

"Yeah," he rasped, letting go of Doyle. "I'm back."

"Good." Doyle touched his face again and he flinched before relaxing. "S'pose telling you to breathe isn't going to do much good."

"Not much," Angel agreed. "Sorry." He lifted his eyes and met Doyle's kind gaze. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice breaking. "You shouldn't have listened to me. You shouldn't have trusted me."

"Oh great, are we in for another round of brooding?" Cordelia asked. She knelt down beside Doyle. "Angel, we know you want to get out of here just as much as we do. You wouldn't do this on purpose. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I was happy about it, but you need to pull yourself together here, okay?" She reached out and put a hand on his thigh, the touch intimate enough that it made Angel feel better.

He laughed, a little bit roughly, and nodded. "Okay." He rubbed his mouth with a shaking hand, licking at the drying blood. "What do we do now?"

"Well," Doyle said, standing up and looking at the building. "Maybe there's something here we're not seeing."

Cordelia squinted. "You mean in between the big stone torture chamber and the miles and miles of nothing?"

"Not exactly." Doyle grinned down at her; how he could maintain his sense of humor in this kind of situation was beyond Angel, but it was one of the things that he loved about him. "What if what we see isn't real?"

"Like the water and the squid?" Cordelia asked.

"And that building." Doyle gestured at it. "What if it's all an illusion?"

"Felt real enough to me," Angel said, remembering despite himself. The demons -- whatever they were, and he felt like he should have known, but he didn't, couldn't, didn't want to -- cutting him, burning him, pushing their hands through his skin and into his body, wiggling their sharp-edged fingers around in there as he screamed and --

"Angel," Cordelia said gently, breaking into the memory, and without a thought Angel grabbed onto her and hugged her, pressing his face into her hair and inhaling the faint scent of days-old shampoo. She patted his shoulder tentatively. "It's okay."

He wanted to say "It's not." Instead, he shook his head against her shoulder. He couldn't help but be aware of the feel of her body against his; the swell of her full breasts, the curve of her waist. And he couldn't help but think -- even if it was just his imagination -- that there was something about her that was different...

Angel felt Doyle's hand gently stroking his hair. "Easy," Doyle soothed. "We're gonna get out of here. Don't worry."

"What do we do now?" Angel said it in barely more than a whisper.

Doyle must have knelt down, because he was putting his arm around Angel, the three of them sharing an awkward but comforting embrace. "I say we go back over there and check the place out. We were in such a hurry to get away from it before -- maybe we missed something important."

"Like running into big scary slug demons?" Cordelia suggested.

"She's right," Angel said. "That thing's dangerous." It wasn't the one that did the torturing, but he'd seen it half a dozen times, giving orders. It mostly lurked in the shadows -- he hadn't wondered until now if it didn't like bright light. It seemed to like watching as its minions hurt him.

"If we wound up back here, it's for a reason," Doyle said.

Angel pulled away. "Or maybe you just want to _think_ there's a reason. What if there isn't? What if... what if there's no point to any of this?"

"Oh, great." Cordelia slapped the back of his head, and would have done it again if Doyle hadn't stayed her hand. "Angel, we don't have time for existential angst right now, okay? We need to focus."

"That'd be easier if you weren't _hitting_ me in the _head_ ," Angel said, frustrated. It took him a few seconds to realize that he suddenly felt more like himself than he had since he'd been there. "Hey."

"Hey what?" Doyle asked.

"Maybe that was a good idea after all." Not that it made sense that that's all it would take, but Angel would take what he could get. He pushed aside the gnawing hunger in his gut and stood up. "Come on."

"Come on where?" Cordelia said, letting him pull her to her feet.

Angel looked at the building where he'd spent the last seemingly-endless months and tightened his jaw. "There."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It must have been hard for Angel to step back inside, but he didn't hesitate. Doyle stuck close, paying as much attention to him as to the space around them, and when he realized that Cordelia was lagging behind, he reached back and took hold of her hand.

"Okay?" he asked her.

She nodded, but she didn't look much better than Doyle felt -- worse, maybe, if her coloring was any indication.

"We came up from below," Angel said, wanting confirmation.

"We did," Doyle said.

"I don't remember how I got there." Angel frowned, pausing at the foot of a staircase that led upward.

"We didn't go down," Cordelia said. "We were on the same level when we came in. Which is... kind of weird, now that I think about it."

She was right. "Seems like they made it too easy." Doyle studied Angel, who was still frowning. "What are you thinking?"

" _Way_ too easy," Angel told him. "You just walked into here on the same level where I was?"

"Like that demon wanted us to find you," Doyle said.

"But why would it want that?" Cordelia asked.

"I think," Angel said slowly, "that it knew once you found me, I'd want to get as far away from here as possible, as quick as we could."

Doyle nodded. "So it had a reason for wanting us out of this building. The question is... what was it?"

"Maybe it figured we'd just end up lost in the desert?" Cordelia suggested.

"And once the two of us were dead, it'd bring Angel back here and things'd be the same as before?" Doyle thought that sounded like a reasonable possibility.

Angel shook his head, jaw clenched. "We need to check this place out," he said. "There has to be more to it than that."

They explored the level they were on, not finding anything but empty rooms and hard stone floors that jarred Doyle's joints when he stumbled, which he did more than once. The third time, Angel caught him under the elbow and steadied him.

"Thanks," Doyle said.

"Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes," Angel suggested. "I can check out the rest of this level and come back."

"No." Doyle steadied himself, ignoring his cracked, dry lips and reaching out a hand to Cordelia, who was standing nearby looking worried. "I'm fine, and we have to stay together."

"But if you -- " Angel started.

" _No_ ," Doyle said, as firmly as he knew how. "We stay together. All three of us." Cordelia's hand was reassuring in his.

Angel sighed, but nodded. "Okay."

Three more levels and Doyle and Cordelia were both running low on energy. "Looks like we're nearing the top, at least," Doyle said, glancing up the staircase as they moved up another flight.

"Thank god," Cordelia said. She sank down onto the top step and leaned against the wall suddenly.

"Cordy?" Worried, Doyle turned and sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Just a little dizzy," she said. She pressed closer to him. "I'm okay."

"Here." He let his knapsack slip off and fumbled around in it with one hand until he found his last bottle of water, which had an inch of tepid but clear liquid in the bottom of it. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle to her lips. "Drink."

She didn't protest, which was indication enough that things were bad off. It didn't take more than a couple of swallows for her to finish what was in the bottle. Doyle was aware of Angel standing behind them on the landing, hovering, probably as worried as he was.

"All right?" Doyle asked, and Cordelia nodded and licked the last drops from the threads at the top of the bottle in what under other circumstances might have been an erotic way. "We need to take a break," he said, tilting his head back so he could see Angel.

"Yeah," Angel said. "Look, this place is empty. If there was anything here, I'd know."

"Like you knew we were going in the right direction before?" Cordelia asked, and Doyle frowned at her -- Angel didn't need that kind of negativity, not now.

"All I'm saying is that I can go check out this level while you guys rest. The place is big, but it's quiet; we'll be able to hear each other if we yell." Angel crouched down and touched Doyle's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said. "I promise."

Doyle still thought they ought to stay together, but with Cordy leaning on him, practically too exhausted to stand up, and the knowledge that they were quickly running out of time, he decided to agree. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. But you'd better answer me when I call."

"I will." Angel leaned forward and pressed his lips to Doyle's in a quick, rough kiss. "You two take it easy. I'll be back soon."

Angel was right about one thing -- Doyle could hear every footstep as he moved down the hallway to their right. They'd come across very few doors in their explorations, so there wasn't much to block the sounds. He listened as Angel moved steadily further away, Cordelia's regular breathing creating a sort of rhythm when combined with Angel's footsteps. After another couple of minutes, when it had become harder to hear Angel, Doyle called out his name, and a moment later Angel called back.

"I'm fine! I'm turning around now." A minute later, all sounds stopped, and Doyle was about to call to him again when the footsteps came more quickly and, rapidly, more loudly. Angel was there in moments, looking anxious. "I think I found something."

"You _think_ you did, or you did?" Cordelia asked. Doyle had figured she was asleep, but she stood up with his help and they both moved onto the landing.

"I did," Angel said. "I don't know what it _is_ , but it's definitely something."

Cordelia and Doyle followed Angel back to a large room with no windows. In the far corner was a stone pillar, and on top of the pillar sat a strangely shiny greenish crystal.

"Yup," Cordelia said. "Definitely something. Shouldn't it be under glass? To protect it?"

"There are different kinds of protection," Angel said.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I want to get out of here," Cordelia said, and reached out to touch the crystal.

"Cordy, don't -- " Doyle started, but the second her fingers brushed the crystal, there was a flare of light.

He blinked, then looked around anxiously, but Angel and Cordelia were both there. Where 'there' was was another story, of course -- they were standing over what looked like a giant chasm, apparently on nothing.

"I don't know whether to be happy that we're out of the other place, or freaked out that we're here," Cordelia said.

Doyle frowned. "I tried to tell you not to touch that thing," he told her.

"Too late," Angel pointed out. "Anyway, we're here now. The question is -- "

The ksh'yyk demon from before -- or hell, for all Doyle knew it was a different one -- appeared in front of them. "It was not expected for you to come so far," it said.

"We're a surprise a minute," Cordelia told it. "Now what?"

"The bargain is always the same," it said. "You must choose -- one individual may leave for each living heartbeat you possess."

" _What_?" Cordelia said.

Doyle felt ill as he realized they'd been tricked, what with Angel not having a heartbeat, but before he could protest, argue, the ksh'yyk made a strange sound and slid forward toward Cordelia. It ignored both Angel and Doyle as they tried to stop it from touching her -- the thing was built like a mack truck -- and pulled up her shirt, touching her stomach.

"Strange," it mused, frowning.

Cordelia struggled and it let her go. "You're the one that's strange! What the hell is your problem? You think you can fool people into coming here, with all the dirt, and the no food and water, and then not let them leave with the person they came for?"

"You may go," the ksh'yyk said, sounding disappointed.

"We aren't going without him," Doyle said.

"Sure you are," Angel said, half under his breath. "I'll be okay. You guys -- "

" _No_ ," Cordelia said. "Do you even appreciate how much we went through to get here? We are _not_ leaving you here."

"You may _all_ go," the ksh'yyk said. "Agreements must be honored."

"But... I thought you said..." Cordelia frowned and looked from the demon to Doyle and Angel. "Didn't he say...?"

"There is a third heartbeat -- three lives -- and only three individuals." The ksh'yyk made a clicking sound. "Never has this happened before."

"Wait," Cordelia said. "Angel has a heartbeat?"

The ksh'yyk just about rolled its eyes. "A third life _there_ ," it said, and gestured at Cordelia's abdomen.

Cordelia went so pale so quickly that Doyle put an arm around her waist, still not understanding what was being said. She put a hand over her stomach. "A third life?" she asked faintly, as a glowing doorway appeared beside them. "You mean I'm -- "

"Go," the ksh'yyk said, gesturing with its tail.

Angel was nudging them toward the doorway, through which Doyle caught a glimpse of what looked like Angel's apartment. "Come on," Angel said urgently. "Walk."

Doyle stepped through and stumbled as the floor fell away underneath him -- they only fell about a foot, though, and somehow between him and Angel they managed to keep Cordy from collapsing; she was shaking like a leaf. Wesley, who'd been curled up on the sofa that was pushed up against the wall, leapt to his feet and hurried over to them.

"Oh, thank God," he said, as Cordelia clutched at Doyle's hand.

"Princess?" Doyle asked, worried.

"I think I'm going to puke," Cordelia said, and did, right onto Wesley's shoes.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"I thought I heard something," Angel confided quietly half an hour later, while Doyle and Cordelia were in the bathroom with the pregnancy test Wesley had run out to buy.

"What?" Wesley said, scrubbing at his shoes some more. "Just now?"

"No." Angel shook his head. "Before. When we were -- I thought there was something about Cordelia that was different."

"You may well have been right," Wesley said. "The ksh'yyk was certainly convinced, at any rate." He started to say something else, then hesitated.

Angel looked at him expectantly.

Wesley sighed. "I don't believe a fetus's heart normally begins beating until the fourth or fifth week."

"It hasn't been that long?" Angel asked. Time had been pretty fucked up while he'd been gone. It had seemed like months, maybe as long as a year. "Wait. It was a lot longer there than it was here. Could that have something to do with it?"

Nodding, Wesley stood up and looked, again, toward the closed bathroom door. "It could have accelerated the rate of the fetus's growth, yes. Or the travel itself, I suppose, might have made the difference. Unless the gestation time for a part Brachen demon is different as well. I'd have to look into that." He hesitated again, then, voice lowered, said, "Of course, it's possible that Doyle might not be the father."

"But they only came through the portal with two heartbeats," Angel pointed out.

The bathroom door opened and Cordelia glared at Wesley. "Yeah, and you don't even _go_ there," she warned him. "If I am, um, pregnant..." Uncertainty and worry crossed her face briefly before she continued, "Then it's Doyle's. One hundred percent."

"Well, actually, only fifty percent," Angel said, and everyone glared at him. "Uh, because the other half is you. Obviously."

"Cordelia," Doyle said. He was standing beside her in the doorway now, holding the small white stick in his hand. Staring at the small white stick in his hand. The look on his face was all the answer Angel needed. "It's," Doyle said. "There's a. Plus."

"A plus as in yes?" Cordelia asked, snatching the pregnancy test from him and looking at it. "Oh, God. I think I'm going to be sick again. I don't -- I don't know if I can do this. Just... give me a minute, okay?" She gave Doyle an apologetic look and he nodded and stepped out of the bathroom, letting her shut the door.

Doyle looked -- well, there wasn't a word for it, and Angel thought that was probably a good thing. He found himself crossing the room to Doyle and touching his sleeve with hesitant fingertips. "Hey," Angel said gently. "You okay?"

"No," Doyle said shakily. "Not really." He lowered his voice. "Christ, Angel. She's been through so much. What if she doesn't want to.. to keep it?"

"She will," Angel said, even though he didn't know for sure that was true. "She will. She loves you. Here, come sit down." He led Doyle over to the couch and knelt on the floor in front of him, holding his hands. The emotion rising in his chest threatened to overwhelm him; there was nothing he wanted more than for Doyle and Cordelia to be happy, together, and the thought that they might not be was almost enough to break his heart. "It's gonna be okay."

Doyle glanced toward the bathroom door. "I don't think I'd be able to bear it." He pulled one of his hands free and leaned forward, hiding his face in his palm.

"You won't have to." Not knowing what else to do, Angel curled his other hand around the back of Doyle's neck and tugged him forward into an awkward embrace. "Hey, come on. It'll be fine."

"God, I hope you're right." Doyle turned his head and kissed Angel's temple. "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

There was a lump in Angel's throat. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "I do." He was aware of Wesley slipping out the doorway, and then the bathroom door opened again and Cordelia came out. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed, but she didn't hesitate, just walked right over to them and sat down next to Doyle.

"So," she said, voice unsteady. "Looks like we're going to be parents. But you have to _promise_ me that you're with me all the way. Like, one hundred and ten percent, because I can't -- I don't think I can do this on my own."

Doyle swallowed and nodded, then suddenly wrapped both arms around her tightly and held on. "All the way," he promised, and Cordelia met Angel's eyes over Doyle's shoulder.

"You, too," she said.

"Me?" Angel was so astonished that he couldn't do anything but stare at her, even when Doyle pulled back and looked at him, too.

"What, am I not speaking English?" Cordelia asked.

Angel cleared his throat. "I just -- why me?"

"Well, because we love you, you idiot." Cordelia seemed to think it was that simple. "Besides, if you hadn't done what you did and brought Doyle back, none of this would have happened, right?"

"But I'm --" _a vampire_ , Angel was going to finish, but Cordelia interrupted him.

"An idiot? Yeah, I think we've covered that part." She was smiling as she reached for his hand. "We're in this together, all three of us. Um, four." Leaning forward, she kissed him, then pressed Angel's hand to her still-flat stomach and continued, "Whether you like or not, so just say yes."

"Say yes," Doyle told him, and Angel, filled with so much joy that he couldn't do anything else, did.

 

 

 

 

  
_The Second Coming (Slouching Towards Bethlehem)  
W.B Yeats_   


  
_Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.  
Surely some revelation is at hand;  
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi  
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert._   


  
_A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?  
_   


 

 


End file.
